


Anchors Up

by delta_owl



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Derek Morgan, Bisexual Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Bisexual Spencer Reid, Drinking, F/F, Heavy Angst, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Internalized Biphobia, Kidnapping, Lesbian Emily Prentiss, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pansexual Penelope Garcia, Past Relationship(s), Penelope Garcia is a Good Friend, Period Typical Attitudes, Revenge, Romantic Fluff, Sea Battles, basically no one's straight, coming to terms with sexuality, just general piracy, some scenes get spicy, there's a lot of plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-01-16 10:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 123,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_owl/pseuds/delta_owl
Summary: True love will be embraced and vengeance will be had upon the high seas in this swashbuckling tale of adventure, friendship, and learning how to find love against the odds.Reid is the nephew of the governor of Port Quantico, struggling with his feelings for Morgan, the town weaponsmith - feelings that are fully reciprocated, though neither will admit it. Prentiss is the commodore, devoting her career to bringing criminals to justice but dreading the inevitable moment when she will be pressured to take a husband. JJ is the first mate of the most prolific pirate on the seas, awaiting the return of her captain and friend. And pirate captain Garcia is coming to grips with a recent betrayal, desperately working on a plan to regain her life - and her beloved ship - from her ruthless ex-second mate, a rising pirate threat named Cat Adams...So begins Anchors Up, a Criminal Minds fanfiction...





	1. The Captain

Penelope almost hoped the ship would hit a reef and sink before it made it to Port Quantico. A quick death on the high seas might have just been preferable to her current predicament.

Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be that lucky. 

She watched the island and its bustling seaside town slowly rise over the horizon from her tiny port window bobbing just above the surface of the water, sitting on the bench in her cell in the hull of the commodore’s ship. No reefs in sight. Nothing coming between her and a jail cell - well, a  _ real  _ one, at least, seeing as she was already the proud occupant of this one.

For what seemed like the thousandth time since being brought on board that ship, Captain Penelope Garcia silently cursed her ex-second mate.

No, not just since being brought on board - since she’d first realized she’d been set up. And turned in to the authorities.  _ At least JJ made it away _ , she reminded herself. That was really one of the only things keeping her going as she sat in her cell on the Commodore’s ship for days on end. 

The other thing keeping her going was the thought of  _ her  _ ship, wherever it was, now under the complete authority of her cursed ex-second mate.

_ I bet she’s introducing herself as Captain Cat Adams, now. When she sails  _ my _ ship into every port. _

A sizeable crowd had formed on the docks of Port Quantico - military, government, and civilians alike - all of them ogling to get a better look at the grand ship and the infamous prisoner on board. News of Penelope’s capture must have spread quicker than she’d realized. She strained to get a good view of how many guns and uniforms would be on the dock, but, with her cell being back towards the stern, she couldn’t tell the number the closer they sailed.

_ Too  _ many guns and uniforms, she deduced from the fleeting glimpses she’d snagged. So an escape wouldn’t be that easy.

Boots sounded on the stairs as the crew began shuffling frantically about on the levels above her, preparing the ship for docking. Penelope narrowed her eyes at the figures descending to the brig.

Specifically, the Commodore Prentiss.

“Welcome to Port Quantico, Garcia,” the woman said, her tone anything but hospitable. She was pretty enough, square jaw, straight black hair tied tightly at the nape of her neck with a bow. The cut of her long, thoroughly-embellished justaucorps coat had been adjusted slightly to the female figure, and her tricorne hat polished off her striking, authoritarian look. Penelope could respect a woman who knew how to look good while doing her job.

Except when that job was dumping her at the feet of the governor of Port Quantico. She was having some difficulty getting past that small detail.

She eyed the shackles in the hand of one of the lieutenants behind her. “And yet,” she said, “Something tells me my welcome isn’t going to involve a three-course meal and a proper bed to sleep in tonight.”

Commodore Prentiss flicked her eyebrows in a shrug. “Intuitive.”

“I am considered somewhat of a genius from time to time.”

“So I’m told. And yet here you are, captured and imprisoned in my brig.”

Penelope just pressed her lips together and said nothing.  _ Not like any of that is of my own accord. This is all Cat’s fault. Two-faced manipulative guttersnipe…  _

“Rossi,” the commodore said to her lieutenant, “Shackle the  _ genius’  _ hands and bring her to the deck. The governor will be expecting her.”

“Yes, Commodore,” the man nodded. His fellow lieutenant unlocked the cell door, and Penelope forced down the flicker of excitement that had flared in her chest upon hearing that glorious  _ clank _ of the tumblers and faint squeal of the iron hinges. She put up no fight as the men slapped the shackles onto her wrists and pulled her to her feet by the collar of her jacket.

She couldn’t fight off the commodore, let alone an entire ship of what was no doubt her best men. Struggling would do her no good.

Later. Escape would come later.

Once she figured out just how the hell she was going to get out of this one.

The harsh sunlight made her wince as Commodore Prentiss led her out of the brig - and it was even hotter on the wide deck under that sun, as if such a thing could be possible. Penelope wished for her wide-brimmed hat, but it had been lost in the struggle that had put her in this position, leaving her with just her linen bandanna tied around her head.  _ Maybe JJ managed to snag my hat, and has it with her…  _

She hit the gangplank and was forced to follow the commodore down it, into full view of the crowd.

_ No time to dwell on that now. I’ll be free to stew once I’m out of here and tracking Cat down. These are important moments to keep my head - it’s reconnaissance time. _

Penelope swept her gaze over the crowd as they stared her right back, searching for the possible glimpse of a familiar face, or at least a face with some hint of sympathy for her state. She found none. Not one single potential ally. She didn’t let herself get too disappointed in that - the last place an ex-pirate would want to live out their civilian life would be Port Quantico, crawling with government officials and military men. 

She did note one face among the crowd that wasn’t ogling her with morbid curiosity - a man, taller than her, a few rows back in the masses along the docks, close to where the governor and his family stood at the very end. His hair was cropped so close to his skull that Penelope could barely distinguish it from his dark skin. Nice eyebrows, though. Short facial hair around his mouth, too. He wasn’t ogling - his expression was surprisingly neutral. It was like he simply wasn’t interested in seeing the infamous pirate captain marched down the dock like livestock, like the other civilians were.

Penelope noted his handsome face and filed it away, her interest piqued.  _ So if this man doesn’t care about seeing a prisoner… why is he here, I wonder? _

Her train of thought was interrupted as the hands of the two lieutenants halted her behind the commodore as she stopped before the governor. Penelope couldn’t see the governor himself, but standing beside him with his hands clasped behind his back was a much younger man, closer to her own age and dressed very fine.  _ A member of the governor’s family, then. This  _ is  _ quite a spectacle. _

“Governor Gideon,” Commodore Prentiss nodded, her authoritative voice carrying across the wharf. “The pirate captain Penelope Garcia.”

_ At least she remembered my title, _ Penelope thought bitterly as she was shoved into full view. 

The ruler of Port Quantico studied her. Despite being presented to him as a prisoner, a criminal, Penelope was somewhat surprised to see him look upon her without a hint of disgust or superiority. His wrinkled eyes were almost kind, though he didn’t smile. It was almost… like the governor pitied her.

Well. Fat load of good that would do her. She didn’t need the governor’s pity. Instead, while Commodore Prentiss began rambling off her various crimes and he nodded solemnly along, Penelope focused her attention on the young man by his side.

_ Pretty boy _ , was the first thing that came to mind. Tall and slender, with large, dark eyes. His brown hair was immaculately brushed and pulled into a tail. He looked somewhat uncomfortable - Penelope figured she’d be uncomfortable, too, if she was forced to stand outside under the baking sun in all those fancy, embroidered layers of his. Your generic run-of-the-mill politician’s relative. Definitely pretty, but pretty wasn’t particularly Penelope’s type when it came to men.

She hazarded a self-indulgent glance back at the man she’d taken note of earlier - now  _ there  _ was a fine man, if she’d ever seen one. But to her surprise, he wasn’t looking at her anymore, unlike the other civilians crowding around him to hear the commodore list her charges. 

He was looking just  _ beyond  _ her. At… at the  _ pretty boy? _

She snapped her head back around to study him again.  _ He  _ wasn’t paying her any attention, either -  _ and he was glancing in the other man’s direction from time to time. _ Returning his gaze, however fleeting.

_ Interesting.  _

Governor Gideon finally nodded as the commodore finished her spiel, drawing Penelope’s attention. “Captain Penelope Garcia,” he said, “For these crimes against the crown, your sentence will be execution, by hanging by the neck until dead. Until your execution, the prison of the fort shall be your residence.” He sighed, shaking his head. “God save your soul.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. “I thank you for your concern, Governor,” she said, “But I’ve found that I’m typically rather good at saving my own soul.”

“Not this time, pirate,” Commodore Prentiss said, her gaze cutting to her. She glanced to her lieutenants, and the city guards who had shown up to accompany them. “Take her to the fort.”

There was a chorus of “Yes, Commodore,” before rough hands took hold of her arms and began marching her towards the haphazard street that would lead to her fort. But Penelope’s mind was already swirling with the information she’d gathered.

The female commodore and the authority she wielded with such dexterity.

The man on the docks, who deemed a member of the governor’s household - a man well above him in station, by the look of it - more worthy of his attention than a convicted pirate.

And the young man by the governor’s side, who didn’t seem all that opposed to the other man’s attention.

None of this, she realized, would be particularly helpful in forming a plan to get her out of Port Quantico’s clutches before her execution, of course, and that did put a significant damper on her morale… but at least she’d have some interesting people to pay attention to before the end, she thought morbidly.

She just hoped she’d be able to keep herself alive long enough to see what would come of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Can I copy your homework?  
Pirates of the Caribbean franchise: Sure, just change it up a bit so no one knows you copied  
Me: haha ok *writes this fic*
> 
> Anyway, writing this is an absolute BLAST, historical au's are just hella fun. There's a LOT of plot here but even though it was initially based pretty heavily on PotC the plot does branch off in its own original direction eventually. Please enjoy and, as always, feel free to leave comments and/or kudos!


	2. The Governor's Nephew

The infamous pirate Captain Penelope Garcia didn’t look anything like how Spencer had imagined her. True, he’d never seen many pirates that close before, but a woman around his own age with a plump figure and tumbling blonde curls certainly hadn’t been what he’d been expecting. And she wasn’t nearly as scruffy or dirty as other convicted pirates had looked from the gallows.

Nonetheless, she’d been disarmed and arrested for a reason. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the pirate captain could have taken him down in an instant back on the docks if she hadn’t been. 

Briefly, as he stood by the windows of the governor’s manor, gazing out at the glittering teal bay and the sea beyond, he wondered if maybe he should consider learning how to defend himself properly. As the nephew of the governor of Port Quantico, he’d learned basic swordplay with rapier, but that was all it really was - play. The extent of his real martial knowledge was sorely limited.

In practice only, of course, seeing as he’d read every book in the city on strategy and combat and could recite them all word for word… but Spencer had to admit that a wealth of knowledge would do him very little good stuck up in his brain without the physical training to back it up, if the situation ever arose.

_ Maybe… maybe Morgan would teach me? _

He pushed away from the window suddenly, shaking his head to clear it. No. Morgan already had a job that took up all of his time, he couldn’t afford to be away from the forge just to make the trek up the hill to the manor and give the governor’s studious nephew _ combat _training. If anything, Spencer would be better off asking a military officer - maybe Rossi or Hotchner, he knew those two men well enough. Or Emily. She was his good friend, she could definitely give him some pointers. Of course, she would most likely tease him while she did so. 

The sound of someone descending the grand staircase behind him broke his concentration. Recognizing his uncle’s kind smile, Spencer put a smile on his own face and pushed aside his train of thought.

_ I don’t need combat training, anyway. There are soldiers who do that for me, and since I just keep myself holed up in the manor most of the time, the probability of finding myself in a life-threatening situation is statistically extremely low. _

_ And if I ever did want training… there would certainly be no need to bother Morgan about it. _

“Uncle,” he said, folding his arms behind his back.

“Spencer,” the governor said, reaching the polished floor and approaching. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

He glanced about with a small shrug. “About what?”

Governor Gideon looked out the window Spencer had just been studying, down at the spread of the town of Port Quantico, at the white sails of the ships in the harbor. “That was quite a show, this morning, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Captain Penelope Garcia, finally safely behind bars after so long.”

“Good news for all of our messengers,” he felt himself smiling. He’d read every account of the pirate’s endeavors twice over that morning - among the obvious charge of piracy, Captain Garcia and her crew had a penchant for accosting and intercepting messenger ships ferrying news between the islands. Often, the blocking of that information from its intended destination ended up being favorable to other pirates in the long run. There was even evidence to suggest that the captain not only intercepted classified information, but also _ utilized _it - there were several accounts of attempted arrests going awry simply because the pirate in question just wasn’t where the authorities were planning. Captain Garcia was a pirate, but her crew looked out for other pirates.

One of the reasons she had been so high on the Wanted list these past few years.

Governor Gideon chuckled to himself. “That it is,” he said. “Our Commodore Prentiss certainly does her job well.”

“She’s the best around,” Spencer replied. Distantly, he wondered what his uncle was getting at, in this roundabout fashion.

“That she is. I’m not sure I can recall another commodore with her record of successful arrests,” he went on amicably. “And in such swift succession! Only having held the title for so short a time, and yet to already have so many engagements under her belt… Well, I was astounded when she dragged in Ian Doyle four months ago, and now Captain Garcia - two of our most notorious scourges in six months?”

Spencer narrowed his eyes the tiniest bit. 

The governor finally turned to him, still cordial as ever. “She’s quite impressive, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” he said, somewhat warily. “Is there… some question relating to her record?”

“No, no, not at all,” he laughed. “She is outstanding in every way, to that regard.”

“And I agree,” Spencer replied, still not entirely satisfied with that answer.

Governor Gideon seemed to sober a bit. “There is… something else, though. Something I’d like to discuss with you, Spencer, regarding the commodore.”

Something about the way his uncle said those words set him just the tiniest bit on edge. An inkling of where exactly this might be heading prodded at the back of his mind, but he ignored it and let the governor speak. “What about her?” he said, casually as possible.

He gave a small shrug. “Commodore Prentiss is an accomplished military officer with an excellent rapport with the government,” he began. “With the speed she has ascended the ranks of this military, and with her unmatched ability to command both ship and soldier, she is a person of great interest to the government, as I’m sure you understand. You have a good relationship with her, don’t you?”

“I do,” he hazarded slowly. “She is my good friend.”

“Of which I am glad to hear,” he smiled - but his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes anymore. “But you see, even with all of her personal achievements, there is… one other thing that could make her even more valuable to us.”

Spencer swallowed. “Which is?”

Governor Gideon glanced down at his hands briefly and took a breath. “A… more _ formal _union with this government.”

_ Oh no. _

The governor immediately noted the slight change in his nephew’s demeanor once those words were spoken and left to hang in the air between them. Spencer knew he noted it - his uncle was the best behavioral analyst he’d ever met. After a lifetime of politics, it was no surprise he’d learned how to read a person’s body language as accurately as if he was reading their mind. And upon seeing Spencer’s realization, a hint of hesitance and… what almost looked like _ apology _ crept into his expression.

“Marriage,” was all Spencer said quietly. Flatly. “To someone in politics.”

Governor Gideon hesitated, but eventually dipped his chin. “Yes.”

_ And there’s only one man in Port Quantico’s local government who is eligible for a marriage to someone of Emily’s status. The governor’s own son is already married. The only other option for her is… _

“Me,” he said, even quieter. He’d suspected that their conversation would lead in this direction, but that didn’t mean the shock wasn’t stealing the breath from his very lungs. Suddenly, the entrance hall of the manor felt too cramped, too hot. Marriage. _ Marriage. _

_ To Emily. _

“I’m sorry to force this upon you, Spencer,” Governor Gideon said, that apology etched deep into his features. “Truly, I am. But… you must admit, at twenty-five, an upstanding young gentleman like yourself as the nephew of the governor of Port Quantico… it _ is _about time you ought to start seriously considering marriage.”

“I know,” he said, his mouth dry. “I… I understand, there’s no need to apologize.”

“I’m telling you this because I think a union between the commodore and yourself would prove to be highly advantageous for the both of you, what with her well-deserved rank and your connection to me. And you already have a rather close friendship with her.”

Spencer couldn’t say anything in return. His mind was whirling with the weight of the situation. _ Advantageous. It _ would _ be advantageous for us both, from a strictly political perspective. After all, that’s what all government marriages are founded on - advantage. I knew this. I _ knew _ this already. This shouldn’t be shocking me as deeply as it is. I knew a political marriage was in my future. _

But despite all logic, words still refused to come to him. 

“I’m trying to look out for you, Spencer.” His uncle gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know that this whole situation is… not ideal for you, but I am trying my hardest to make it the best it possibly can. A marriage to a woman you already consider a friend… it’s better than offering you to a lady you barely know, isn’t it? You already know that you and Commodore Prentiss get along.”

_ As siblings, _ some futile part of his brain countered. _ We get along as siblings in all but name. I have no romantic feelings for her, none, and she for me. Yes, we get along… but, married? Presented as a couple at every dinner? Living together, living with each other every day of the year? _

_ And… children? _

_ That _ notion disturbed him most. He’d always been enamored with the notion of being a father at some point in his life, but… _ with Emily? _

_ Can I find it in myself to do that? Can I find it in myself to marry my friend, a friend I don’t love in the romantic sense? _

_ Can I bind myself to another person when, aside from her, I really _ do _ have romantic feelings for… _

Spencer’s insides suddenly turned to ice and he froze his line of thinking right there. He wouldn’t go there. He _ promised _himself he wouldn’t go there, for his own sake. 

“Take all the time you need to think it over, of course,” the governor said, finally taking a small step back and removing his hand. “But I do urge you to consider the alternative, if you should choose to decline.”

He was considering. He was considering both options with excruciating detail. _ What is worse? Marrying someone I barely know… or someone I know too well, but in the wrong capacity? Which future is more unnerving? _

They both were. 

_ Because I wouldn’t truly love either of them, because I love - _

_ Stop. Don’t go there. Just don’t. _

“I’ll…” Spencer swallowed, motivated to finally speak after the jolt of catching his mind wandering again. He needed to stop that wandering - the sooner, the better. And even though he refused to let himself think too hard about what exactly a marriage to Emily would entail, lest he unnerve himself further… perhaps a marriage would keep his heart from drifting. He met his uncle’s eyes. “I’ll… consider your suggestion,” he heard himself say quietly, as if he were listening from far away. 

Governor Gideon’s mouth turned up at the corners in a somber smile. Somber… but proud. “You will?”

“I’ll consider it.”

He smiled and patted his hand on his nephew’s narrow shoulder. “I’m glad,” he said.

Spencer only pressed his lips into a weak attempt at a smile of his own. He did not succeed.

“This is a lot to process,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“How soon would I have to… to ask her.” His voice was low, void of emotion.

The governor paused, thinking for a while. “Well,” he said at length, “Commodore Prentiss _ is _ setting sail on a patrol of some of the nearby islands before the week is out. She’s taking the _ Profiler _, I believe. If this… somewhat compressed timeline is not too overwhelming for you, I could work to secure you a spot on board that ship. Is that alright?”

_ Before the week is out. _

_ Nearby islands… _ Spencer summoned the image of a map of the surrounding archipelago to the forefront of his mind. _ Such a journey would most likely keep her within a five day radius by ship, to hit all of the major towns. Taking in the consideration of the possibility of her patrol reaching to the very edge of that radius before sailing home… Ten days at sea. Minimum. That’s not even taking into account foul weather, or any nights that might be spent docked in a harbor. And if we stopped at every single port along the way… it could be three weeks before we make it back to Port Quantico. _

_ If I proposed this marriage at any point during that journey… word would no doubt reach home long before we did. It would create a terrible excitement among the elites. Knowing them - and knowing the town as a _ whole, _ for the citizens would no doubt be rather excited, as well - they’d push for as swift a ceremony as could be drawn up, just to ride the tide of the anticipation at its highest. Depending on when they received word, and when we arrived back home as fiancees… _

_ I could be married to Commodore Emily Prentiss by this time next _month.

Compressed timeline, indeed. Spencer’s head was near spinning from the suddenness of it all. Just yesterday, a wedding had felt like a lifetime away. Just this morning. And now… he could be married before the end of this month.

Dumbly, he felt himself nodding, as if his mind were not in control of his body. Nodding. _ Agreeing _ . Why was he nodding? _ Why am I nodding? I’m not ready. Not yet. I don’t think I’m ready for any of this yet… _

“I shall speak to the lieutenants.” That was the governor’s voice. A smile. He was smiling. Apologetic… but also proud.

_ Apologetic, because he knows the nature of political marriages. He knows the hesitation, the reluctance. But proud nonetheless, because he also knows the nature of embracing one’s political duties - and how futile it is to try to ignore them forever. I _ am _ marrying very well, after all. He’s proud of me. _

_ I have to do this. This is my role, as the nephew of the governor. Marry well. And I will do it. _

_ I don’t want to… but I will do it. _

“I need some air,” was all he said. The walls of the manor were pressing in on him. With little more than a dip of the chin in his uncle’s direction, Spencer turned and set off across the polished floor, headed for the glass-paned doors to the garden behind the manor.

_ I don’t want to marry Emily. But I don’t really have a choice, do I? _

_ So… I might as well pretend that single choice was mine to make in the first place, right? _

_ I will marry her. _

But somehow, Spencer knew he was never going to come to terms with that decision. No matter how adamantly he tried to convince himself otherwise.

* * *

“There is a man for you in the yard, sir.”

Spencer looked up from the two books spread across his lap and frowned at the butler in the doorway of the library. “Who is it?” he asked.

“The weaponsmith, sir. Says he’s come with your order-”

Both books clattered to the floor in a flutter of pages and thump of binding as Spencer shot to his feet. He frantically snatched them back up with a muffled curse and barely saw to their safe placement on the desk beside him before he was rushing past the butler in the direction of the yard. 

His heart was soaring, and for once he didn’t tell himself to quash that happy feeling - after everything that had been thrust upon him the day before, what with the realization that he’d have to propose to his best friend… he didn’t particularly care anymore about where he’d promised he would and wouldn’t let his mind wander. 

He needed this one moment of reprieve from reality.

There was indeed a man in the walled-in yard just off the circular gravel driveway, where the governor’s carriages were stored when not in use. The weaponsmith from town. The one the governor - and his family - so frequently commissioned. His broad back was to the manor as he inspected one of the carriages, and there was a long, black box tucked under his arm.

Spencer stopped himself just before he pushed open the door, gathering his bearings and trying to calm his racing heart. He ran a hand over his hair to make sure not a strand was loose from the ribbon. Took a breath.

Then, with as much nonchalant dignity as he could muster with adrenaline still singing through his veins, he stepped out into the yard.

Derek Morgan turned around immediately at the sound of the opening door, and his face broke into a brilliant smile. “Ah, Mr. Reid,” he said, giving a small, exaggerated bow as he grinned.

Spencer couldn’t help but smile back, heat rushing into his face at the honorific. “Come on, Morgan, don’t be like that,” he said.

Morgan just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, still beaming so wide his dark eyes were nothing but cheerful slits. “How’ve you been, kid?” he asked.

“Doing well, thank you,” Spencer replied. The heat in his face wasn’t going away, but he didn’t particularly care. Not when the mere presence of the weaponsmith was enough to make his heart swell with adoration. “How about you?”

“Can’t complain,” he shrugged cheerfully.

“Good.” He nodded. “I, uh, I saw you at the docks this morning,” he said, perking up again. “Come to see the march?”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah, that was sure something. It was big news all over town, I knew it’d draw a pretty significant crowd, so I made sure to get there early. Glad I did, too.”

_ So am I. _

Whatever Morgan had done, he’d managed to secure a spot in the crowd where Spencer had been able to see him, and he’d been absolutely elated to catch a glimpse of his face. He saw the weaponsmith so infrequently anymore, he’d cherished every minute. “Do you know much about the prisoner?” Spencer asked.

“Bits and pieces,” Morgan shrugged. “I knew Captain Garcia was a pretty big name, when I heard she got captured by the new commodore I was pretty shocked.”

“So was I, considering her record of evading the authorities,” he grinned, his hands lifting to accentuate his words. “There have been _ three _stakeouts by Port Quantico forces to capture Captain Penelope Garcia over a period of approximately five and a half years, but every single one of them went awry in some way and she managed to escape with the rest of her crew. The second stakeout, three years ago, came the closest to capturing her, close enough to exchange a few broadsides with her ship, but in the end the Quantico ship tailing her lost a mast and she was able to escape…”

Morgan’s eyebrows slowly inched higher and higher while Spencer talked, the corner of his mouth following suit. His heart seemed to stumble a bit in its beating, but he kept talking. Morgan never interrupted him when he got like this. Never. It was one of the reasons his rare visits made him so excited.

“In fact,” he said, lifting a finger, “Captain Garcia didn’t even fall into our clutches this time because of a stakeout, at all - according to the official report sent here immediately following her capture, an anonymous source had tipped off the local quartered troops and she was quickly accosted in a tavern by Commodore Prentiss and her men.”

“Huh,” the weaponsmith hummed, nodding his head. “What about the rest of her crew, and her ship?”

“The _ Black Queen _? They don’t know,” Spencer shrugged. “It wasn’t anywhere to be found in the harbor when the authorities caught her. Apparently, even Garcia herself seemed shocked at the news.”

“You sure know a lot about this Garcia lady,” Morgan teased, crossing his well-muscled arms and raising an eyebrow. “Were you there or something?”

“Oh, no, I read all her files this morning. Twice.”

“This morning? You mean _ before _she arrived?”

“Yes.”

“How early did you wake up?”

“A little after seven.”

The commodore’s ship had arrived at the docks at eight o’ clock sharp.

Morgan snorted and shook his head. “Wow.”

“What?” Spencer asked, cracking a smile.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head once more with a grin. Spencer blushed down at his feet. 

Morgan seemed to remember why he had even shown up at the governor’s manor in the first place, and suddenly cleared his throat. “Oh, here, Reid,” he said, picking up the long box from where he had rested it against his leg. He held it up flat between them. “This is for you.”

“For me?”

“The sword you ordered?”

“Oh, right, right,” he laughed nervously.

Morgan smirked at him as he undid the clasps keeping it closed. “Your _ third _ sword?”

“Right.”

The top of the case swung open, revealing the brand-new finely crafted rapier on its bed of deep blue felt. Reverently, Spencer took hold of it and lifted it out with both palms, hardly daring to touch the gleaming metal of the blade lest he mar it with a fingerprint. Like all of Morgan’s handiwork from the forge, it was truly beautiful. “This is wonderful,” he breathed, offering the man a smile. 

Morgan snapped shut the case and narrowed his eyes at him playfully as he tucked it under his arm again. “Maybe, if you like it so much, you won’t _ lose _ this one, this time.”

Spencer pressed his lips together. This _ was _ the third sword he’d commissioned from Morgan this year. All the others had been… misplaced. Off the edge of a ship. Lost among outbound cargo. Complete accidents, to be sure. 

Except they weren’t accidents. 

Spencer had been very careful to orchestrate the misplacing of his swords to make it _ look _ like they were… but in the end, he always managed to render himself weaponless. And therefore requiring of a replacement.

Three times.

Three times, Spencer had been _ forced _ to slink into town, lamenting his clumsiness and begging Morgan for forgiveness for having to craft him a new blade once again. Three times, Morgan had lightly chastised him for his negligence but agreed to do it. And three times, he’d shown up at the governor’s manor, box in hand, presenting Spencer with his new sword, just like he was right now.

The new sword he’d already begun planning how to misplace.

In total… six interactions with the handsome weaponsmith that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

_ I can’t keep this up, though, _ he admitted to himself as he gave the weaponsmith a sheepish smile. _ I can’t just keep losing my swords, he’ll know something’s up - if he doesn’t already. No one’s as clumsy as I’m charading myself to be. He’ll end up thinking I’m just doing this to make him work, and sooner or later he’ll stop accepting my commissions altogether. _

The thought sent a lance of sadness through his heart. _ But, well… as terrible as that would be… at least he wouldn’t figure out why I really keep doing this. _

_ I can’t lose these moments with him. I can’t. I never see him outside of these business transactions, I can’t… _

_ I can’t just stop seeing him. _

“I won’t lose this one,” he said. _ And I really won’t. I’ll find another excuse to keep Morgan visiting the manor… what else does he make? Guns? Where does Uncle keep his pistols… maybe I could ferret those away somewhere… _

“Are you _ sure? _” Morgan smirked.

“I promise.”

He flicked his eyebrows. “Whatever you say, Pretty Boy,” he grinned, clearly not believing a word.

That nickname paired with that grin made Spencer’s heart absolutely melt. _ I don’t want to have to stop seeing that grin. _

“So, what will you be up to in the near future, huh?” Morgan asked, snapping Spencer out of his temporary daydream and back to reality. “What’s in store for the nephew of the governor?”

_ Near future. _

_ Emily. _

_ Proposal. _

Suddenly, every warm feeling in Spencer’s body soured. He glanced down at his shoes in the dirt of the yard - shiny and polished. Morgan’s boots, on the other hand, were scuffed and sooty from the forge he labored in every day. 

_ This is why you promised yourself you wouldn’t let yourself go there. This is why. Seeking this reprieve from reality does you absolutely no good, it’ll only bring you sorrow when it’s over. You know that. There’s no use feeling so happy around him. No use finding excuses to keep him coming back to you. No use to agonizing over the possibility of not seeing him again - he’s a weaponsmith and you’re the governor’s nephew, your lives just don’t cross. _

_ There is no use loving him. _

Spencer tipped his head to the side in a small shrug. “Well,” he said, trying not to sound any less cheerful than he had been a few minutes ago, “I, uh… I’m going to be accompanying Commodore Prentiss on a patrol,” he said, forcing a thin-lipped smile.

Morgan didn’t seem to pick up on any change in his demeanor. “Really?” he smiled, his dark eyes sparkling with intrigue. “A patrol with the famous commodore herself, huh? Sounds exciting.”

“Yeah, it… it should be an intriguing venture.” 

“When do you set sail?”

“Three days from now.”

“Well, have fun,” Morgan said. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for your return, then - you’ll have probably lost your sword again by the time you come back, no doubt. I might as well start on your replacement right now.”

Spencer laughed, but it held no real mirth - his insides were roiling with guilt. _ Oh, God, he’s going to hear about it when the news of my proposal sweeps through Port Quantico, _ he silently mourned. _ He’ll hear that I got engaged to Emily before I even reach these shores. And when I do get back… I’ll have a fiancee. The wedding preparations will be in full swing by then. _

_ Uncle might just commission Morgan for a sword for me to give to Emily as a wedding present. _

The irony in that fearful thought made Spencer feel slightly sick. _ I couldn’t face him if that happened. Not like that. Not to order it, not to pick it up. Not knowing who it was for and why and what that would mean about me… _

_ I don’t think I could do that to myself. _

Which was ridiculous, of course. There was no reason he should feel guilty over Morgan finding out that he would soon be marrying the commodore. No reason at all. They were acquaintances, really. Casual friends at best. He didn’t really _ know _ Morgan well enough to truly _ need _ to tell him what was going to happen before the fact. There was no reason to feel so guilty, like he was deceiving or betraying the weaponsmith.

They were nothing. There was absolutely nothing in their relationship to betray.

_ Just because he holds your heart doesn’t mean you hold his, Spencer Reid. _

_ This is the very reason you promised yourself you wouldn’t go there - this sadness you’re feeling right now. _ This _ is why you need to abandon these feelings. There is no use - _ no use _ \- loving someone you can’t ever truly be with. Not a commoner. Not a weaponsmith. _

_ And _ certainly _ not another man. _

_ Not in this life you’re both living. _

And so, Spencer swallowed his guilt and plastered a smile on his lips as he looked to Morgan. “I hope I won’t have to commission any more from you,” he said. “I hate to overwork you -”

But Morgan just waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, kid. I know I like to poke fun, but it’s no trouble at all to me, making all these swords. Really.”

_ He’s not making this any easier for me, can’t he just stop being so… understanding? _“At least let me give you some kind of compensation for the extra hours,” he insisted, reaching for his pocket for some coins.

“No,” he replied, holding out his hand, “Really. Don’t. I don’t need your money.”

“Just take it,” Spencer said offering him a few silver coins. “Please, Morgan, I feel bad -”

“Seriously, you don’t -”

“I’m _ giving _this to you -”

“Put… put your money _ away _, Reid, I’m not gonna take it.” He took a step back and crossed his arms again, lifting his eyebrows in defiance. “I mean it. It’s no sweat off my back. I’ll make you as many swords as you want, you just tell me when you want them.”

Spencer finally stilled, the coins still resting in his outstretched palm. He held Morgan’s gaze, standing there in silence for a few beats of his heart. Analyzing the resolve in the weaponsmith’s handsome features. The soft honesty in his words that had made his heart flutter painfully.

_ God… he really doesn’t know what he does to me. _

_ No. Stop it. No more. Don’t go there. Don’t go there anymore. You’re getting married, God damn it, and if you want to give yourself a shot at happiness once you do, you’ll drop this. Right now. _

Slowly, he closed his fingers around the coins and slipped them back into his pocket, finally breaking his eye contact with the weaponsmith. “Okay,” he said softly. “Sorry.”

There was a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped up to find Morgan before him once again. Spencer was taller than Morgan… not by much, but he was. It was most evident when he was this close to him. He swallowed, fresh heat washing over his face.

Morgan cracked a soft smile. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said. 

His hand was suddenly gone from Spencer’s shoulder, and he felt the loss as deeply as if it were a missing limb. The weaponsmith picked up the box and set off in the direction of the driveway, waving a hand. “I’ll see you around, maybe?” he asked.

_ No. You won’t. Not intentionally, at least. We might run into each other… but I can’t let myself seek you out anymore. _

_ This is the last. _

Spencer just nodded. “See you,” he replied.

“Oh,” Morgan said, “And… kid?”

“Yes?”

He grinned. “Have fun on that patrol.”

“Thank you,” he barely managed to whisper before the weaponsmith turned his back and strode away.

Spencer stood in the yard, brand-new sword in hand, still watching the direction he’d gone long after his broad shoulders had disappeared from view.

* * *

Three days came and went. 

And then, the morning of the patrol, Spencer found himself standing on the deck of the _ Profiler _, the finest ship in the commodore’s command, his new sword by his side, watching as the city of Port Quantico slowly began to recede from him. The winding, haphazard streets. The fort on the crest. The manor up on the hill beyond the treeline, within which Governor Gideon waited for him to return - affianced.

And the sooty weaponsmith’s shop just off the main road where Derek Morgan was most likely already hammering away this early in the morning, contentedly fashioning weapons without a care in the world. 

Still under the impression that Spencer would be coming back to him soon with another commission.

His knuckles tightened on the hilt of the rapier by his side. _ I’m not losing this one this time, _ he promised himself. _ Neither intentionally _ nor _ on accident. I won’t seek him out anymore. _

_ Because the next time I see this town, I will be engaged. _

He glanced over at Emily, who was giving some orders to a handful of her crew members. Striking as ever in her immaculate justaucorps coat and gleaming black boots, her ponytail pulled tight from out from under her tricorn hat. She really was an amazing woman - Spencer knew that already.

_ But not amazing enough to make me fall in love with her. _

_ I can pretend all I want, but I’m just never going to fall in love with my best friend. _

_ Not in the way I… _

He shook his head, tearing his gaze from the woman - but refusing to glance back at the city at their rudder. _ It doesn’t matter. I will marry her anyway. I don’t love her, but that doesn’t matter because I… I just don’t love anyone. _

_ Not even Morgan. _

The lie sounded hollow even to himself.


	3. The Commodore

The moment that Emily had heard that Spencer Reid would be accompanying her on her patrol, that day in her office in the Port Quantico fort, she knew _ exactly _what was being set into motion. 

And when she saw the look in her best friend’s eyes when he stepped off the gangplank onto the deck of her ship, she knew she had been right.

There was no way Spencer would have chosen to tag along on her ship of his own accord. The governor’s nephew would rather choose a week sealed alone in a library over a voyage on a ship, in a heartbeat. Ships were not at all his element, as they were Emily’s. And she knew he harbored a particular dislike of the seagulls that flocked seaports - seaports that Emily’s patrol would have her bouncing between throughout the entire journey.

And there had been his eyes, as he boarded the _ Profiler _. Large, dark… and haunted. There was something weighing heavily on him, something his brilliant mind couldn’t seem to stop agonizing over. Emily knew that look. She knew that look and she knew why he wore it. They were not the eyes of someone who was looking forward to something - the only thing they revealed was dread.

No. He most certainly was _ not _here of his own accord.

Spencer was on her ship for one reason and one reason only - to propose.

Of course, he hadn’t done it yet, nor had he let on that that was his intention in the three days since they cast off from Port Quantico. He was currently belowdecks somewhere. Emily stood upon the forecastle deck at the bow of the ship, letting the late morning breeze ruffle through her unbound hair as she gazed off beyond the bowsprit at the glittering horizon. 

_ Marriage. To Spencer. _

Emily could have laughed at the sheer absurdity of the notion if she didn’t know that whoever was orchestrating the whole thing - probably the governor - was completely serious. The topic of marriage had been floated by her with increasing regularity these past few years, especially as she kept climbing the ranks of the military and amassing an ever-growing history of successful campaigns. 

A passing comment during a military dinner. A playful jest from the men of similar rank. A veiled offer during a strategy discussion. Oh yes, it seemed that _ everyone _ was waiting for the great Commodore Prentiss to take a husband.

Emily couldn’t have been more disgusted by the whole situation. 

True, most women her age - if not all of them - had been made wives already, many of them already with a child or two. But, then again, most women didn’t have Emily’s military prowess or affinity for leadership and combat and strategy. Emily just wasn’t like them. She had a successful and extensive career, and a lifestyle she absolutely adored, to consider in every decision she made.

That included marriage. _ Especially _marriage, really.

Nothing - not a pirate raid, not a strategical blunder, not a freak act of the supernatural - threatened her hard-earned career like a marriage did.

If she walked down that aisle, she wouldn’t be Commodore Emily Prentiss anymore. Oh, sure, she would still retain her official rank. She would never be demoted - she’d proven time and time again that she belonged at the top, and that her men needed her there. But at dinners, partygoers wouldn’t be referring to her as commodore anymore. Not immediately, at least.

She would be “So-and-so’s wife”. “Mrs. What’s-his-name”. “Ah, there goes Emily, who is her husband? Mr. Such-a-one? I see”. Only once her marital status had been distinguished would her real accomplishments see any light - if at all. _ “Oh, and did you hear that Mr. That-one-there’s wife is the commodore?” “His wife?” “Indeed.” “Fascinating. What does her husband think of that?” _

And if she married Spencer - _ Spencer! _God, she could hardly imagine it - she would be “Spencer Reid’s wife”. “Mrs. Reid”. Wife first, decorated military officer second.

_ The wife of the governor’s nephew, Commodore Emily Reid. _

She shuddered. Then shuddered again, more forcefully. The title sounded foreign and fundamentally _ wrong _ in her mind. As she hazarded to test it on her tongue. _ Wrong, wrong, wrong. _

And that was the purely _ technical _ aspect of her looming engagement, that wasn’t even taking into consideration who she would be engaged _ to _. Now, Emily loved Spencer. Truly, she did. He was her best friend outside of the military, and she adored him like the little brother she never had.

And _ only _ as a little brother. 

It was _ very _ clear to her where that line of affection was drawn, and the prospect of marriage to her friend was _ well _ beyond it, firmly planted in the territory of _ Downright Abhorrent _ . She wanted nothing to do with being Spencer’s wife. Not the political sense, not in the romantic sense, and _ certainly _ not in any _ fraction _of the physical sense.

_ Oh my God, I’m going to be expected to bear his children, won’t I. _

Emily had never gotten seasick before in her life, but after that thought, she almost broke that streak. But she knew the answer to that question already. Marriage would never be enough for her, not in the eyes of the high-class society she’d ascended into. Once she was married, there would be pressure to bear children. Once she bore children, there would be pressure to commit to raising them. And before Emily could blink, she would be forced to sideline her career as commodore in favor of the same duties expected of every other woman. Every other woman who didn’t possess her credentials and achievements.

And once that happened, marriage would have finally eclipsed her career, and the life she loved - sailing the seas, combating injustice, and ridding the world of cruelty - would would be over.

As completely as though it had never happened.

No one had explicitly _ told _ Emily that a proposal from the governor’s nephew was in her future, of course. Not a soul had breathed a word of it to her. In fact, truthfully, it was the _ absence _ of marriage talk recently that had solidified her suspicions. No one wanted to make it look like they were putting pressure on the commodore _ , _ one of the highest-ranked officers in Port Quantico… but, then again, that high-ranked officer _ was _ a woman well within her marriageable years, and pressure _ did _ need to be added. Ideally, sooner rather than later.

_ But did it really need to be Spencer? _ Emily worked her jaw and sighed through her nose at the sea. _ Of all the men in that town… why did they have to send him? Do they really expect me to ruin one of my closest friendships? _

Because it _ would _ruin it. She wasn’t sure that they could pretend to still just be friends after Emily had been forever sealed inside a manor, raising his kids. She just couldn’t see it working out happily, for either of them.

“Emily?”

She turned suddenly to see who had called her name, breaking her out of her endless spiral of worry. _ Spencer. _ Of course it was him, seeking her out. But even though he had been at the center of her concerns, Emily couldn’t help but feel the corner of her mouth twitch upwards upon seeing her friend approach. “Hey,” she said.

“I figured you’d be up here,” he said, leaning with both elbows on the laquered wooden railing - on the other side of the bowsprit from her. 

Emily shrugged and mirrored his stance. “I do like this spot,” she said, tipping her head to the side. She smiled a little wider. “If you let yourself relax for long enough, it almost feels like the ship just… I dunno. Falls away, I guess. Like it’s just you and no one else, skimming across the ocean with the wind in your hair.”

Her friend huffed a laugh. “So that’s why your hair’s down this morning,” he said. “Must be nice.”

She eyed him. “I’m surprised you haven’t embraced the style,” she smirked. “Look at you, desperately trying to keep it nice and tied back. How’s that working out for you, hm?”

He narrowed his eyes her way and pressed his lips together in that indignant look that meant that she’d scored a hit. She grinned to herself. Poor Spencer, so far away from the comforts of the governor’s manor. The salt in the sea air had already curled the ends of his ponytail in tangled waves, and several strands had been blown loose from the ribbon at the nape of his neck. “I brushed it out not ten minutes ago,” he grumbled.

“Yeah,” Emily sighed. “The sea’ll do that to you. You’d be better off chopping it all off, really, with how badly _ your _ hair curls.” 

He just snorted with distaste. “I’ll pass.”

Even after he glanced back out at the waves, Emily kept her gaze on her friend, her short-lived mirth fading again to melancholy. _ If I marry him… this banter we have will never be the same. It’ll never be this carefree. Oh, we’ll try to keep it going, for sure… but for how long will we have the energy to keep that up? _

_ I don’t want to take that gamble. I don’t want to even try. I just… I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to marry _ any _ man, really. _

_ Maybe, when he asks I’ll just decline. _

_ So what, such a thing is unheard of and has hardly been attempted? There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? And right now seems like a _ damn _ good time for a first, if you ask me. _

But despite her petulant determination, she knew that line of thinking was futile. While instances of women among the elites turning down serious marriage proposals weren’t _ completely _ unheard of… they were rare enough to ruffle plenty of feathers whenever they did crop up. And it wasn’t exactly like she kept a low profile in upper-class society, and could just ride out the tide of the uproar. She was the _ commodore _ \- and he, the nephew of the governor _ himself _ . As two of the most prominent social players on the board, a declined proposal between them would cause all _ kinds _of unnecessary issues that, frankly, Emily just didn’t need to deal with. 

Not when Captain Penelope Garcia’s ship and crew were still completely unaccounted for, somewhere out on the seas.

No. When - _ when _ \- Spencer finally bit the bullet and asked her, Emily would have to accept. She’d have to. If not for her, then for her friend - the social repercussions on _ him _would be astronomical, as the one who had been rebuffed. And, unlike her, he wouldn’t have the luxury of jumping on a ship and going pirate hunting to escape it. 

So she would accept his proposal, whenever it finally came. They would marry. And that would be the beginning of the end of Commodore Emily Prentiss.

Spencer seemed to notice he was still being watched, and flicked his gaze her way. “What?” he asked.

Emily just shook her head. “I wish this wasn’t happening to us,” she said softly.

Recognition swept across his expression, but he schooled his features back into neutrality just as quickly. “I… I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Yes you do.”

He looked down at his hands, straightening but keeping them on the railing. Emily watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “Who told you,” he whispered.

“No one.” She shook her head. “If they thought I wouldn’t put two and two together by now, they’re the blind ones, not me.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“I know it wasn’t.” The heels of her boots thudded softly on the wood deck as she crossed the distance to her friend’s side. He still refused to tear his gaze from his hands. “Listen,” she said, cracking a hollow smile, “You think I don’t know how much you just _ love _ sailing, and everything that comes with the activity? I knew you didn’t want to be here the minute you set foot on this ship.”

Emily could tell Spencer was trying to smile, but it just wasn’t working. “I’m just… I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I know I have to, but I… I don’t know if I can do it, in my right mind, you know? Willingly give… everything up.”

“Hey.” She tipped her head to the side, trying to force him to look her in the eye. She agreed with everything he was saying… but now wasn’t the time to agonize over it. _ Funny. Telling that same thing to myself never works, but the moment someone else is facing the same insecurity, I jump to be the voice of reason. Little brother indeed. _ “It’s… it’s okay.” _ It’s not. It’s really not, and he knows it, but goddamn it, I’m not going to admit that now. _

“No, it’s not,” he deadpanned.

“Alright, fine, you’re right. It’s not. It sucks.” She snorted a puff of air from her nose. “But… we can get through this.”

“Can we?” His eyes finally met hers, and Emily had to clench her jaw to keep from throwing her arms around him. That expression on his face, that fragile, hopeless expression… 

“Yes. Yes we can,” she insisted. “It’ll be… awkward and stressful, but I think we can do it. We just…” she shrugged. “Can’t let the situation get the best of us. We have to hit the ground running and make the most of what we’re given.”

Spencer just looked out at the ocean again. Emily did, too, unable to scrounge up any more encouraging words from their dire fortunes. She really did love it on the bow of the ship. It really did give her the impression of flying alone across the waves. Untethered. Free.

“Make the most of what we’re given,” she murmured. Partly to him… but mostly to herself. “Somehow.”

“Commodore!”

Emily snapped her head to the voice, breaking away from Spencer as he did the same.

Lieutenant Hotchner blinked, pausing on the final step of the stairs. “I’m sorry, am I… interrupting someth-”

“No,” Spencer insisted quickly. “No, Hotch you… it’s not.”

The lieutenant’s gaze flicked between them for a moment before he dropped the topic. Sometimes, Emily forgot that many of the officers under her command were longtime friends with Governor Gideon - and, by association, had known Spencer almost his entire life. It was still strange to hear her friend address her lieutenant by a nickname, though. She shook her head. “What is it?” she asked.

“A ship’s been spotted off the starboard side,” Lieutenant Hotchner said, his expression settling back into his usual frown - but this time, it was edged with tension.

Emily furrowed her brows the tiniest bit. “Her colors?”

“She’s not flying any, ma’am.”

“_ Pirates _,” she sneered. Immediately, she set off beside her lieutenant at a brisk stride, whipping a ribbon out of her pocket and tying her hair back, out of her face.

“Pirates?” Spencer scurried down the stairs and hurried after them as the crew around them began to stir into action, as well. “Like… like real pirates?”

Emily turned to look at him. His eyes were wide with sudden fear. _ He can’t be up here. He’s going to get himself killed if those pirates attack. _Furiously, she gave the deck a once-over for inspiration on where to put him - and her gaze rested on the steep steps leading belowdecks. “Get belowdecks and stay there,” she demanded, pointing for the hatch.

He blinked. “I… what?”

“If they catch up to us, it’s most likely they’ll come about for a broadside. I will _ not _ have you caught in the crossfire. To the cargo hold, lowest deck. _ Now _.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. His gaze flicked to the dark smudge on the horizon off the starboard rail.

And without another word, he hurried to the stairs and disappeared.

The cargo hold wasn’t perfect, but it was the best place Emily could think of. _ But that’s good. He’s out of harm’s way. _

_ It’s time to get to work. _

The crew were scurrying about the deck, now. Emily took the steps up to the aftercastle deck two at a time, halting beside Lieutenant Rossi, who was holding the periscope. “What have we got?” she demanded.

“Pirates,” he nodded gravely. “Just one ship, but she’s gaining fast. The wind’s on her side.” He offered her the periscope, and she took it, sighting it herself.

The sails of their adversary were a deep gray, the hull a warm brown that could easily be read as a dusky pink in the right light. A lance of dread shot through Emily’s core as she refocused the instrument to get a better look at the figurehead.

A rearing horse. With a single horn protruding gracefully from its forehead.

Emily shut the periscope with a _ clack _ and a curse. “It’s the _ Black Queen _,” she growled.

“Ma’am?”

“We captured her captain, but it looks like she’s not out of the fight yet. Her crew is still kicking.” She leveled her gaze on her lieutenants. “Prepare the guns and turn this ship around. We’re settling this once and for all.”

“Yes, Commodore,” they both chorused. Rossi set off to alert the gunmen, but Hotchner lingered. “We’re not going to try to lose them?” he asked her.

She shook her head, her ponytail snapping. “I was a captain on the ship that almost captured her in a broadside battle. She’s too fast. Outrunning her would be a fool’s errand.” 

That was one of the things Emily found somewhat frustrating about the enormous galleons that she now commanded as commodore. All the big ships - like the _ Profiler _ \- certainly packed a lot of firepower with their two full decks of cannons, but they were slow and cumbersome to maneuver.

_ Not like the _ Redwing _ , _ Emily thought fondly. Her little ship that had been her first to command in any capacity. Now _ there _ was a ship that stood a chance at outrunning the _ Black Queen - _ smaller than others, yes, but nimble and able to be crewed by just a few men. Her decks never swarmed with as much chaos as the _ Profiler _’s did at that moment.

Unfortunately, her beloved little vessel was safely secured all the way back in Port Quantico. She ground her teeth but turned to the helm to give her orders from there. 

She would have to make do with the lumbering colossus she was given.

_ Spencer better keep his head down in the cargo hold, or by God, there will be hell to pay. _

Ropes were hauled. Knots tied. Sails creaked and groaned as they caught the wind anew. And slowly, agonizingly slowly, the _ Profiler _ began to come about. Emily kept an eye on the _ Black Queen _, steadily gaining. Adrenaline sang through her bones the closer the two ships came. 

“_ Ready the guns! _” she hollered. She could see the whitecaps spray where the pirate vessel sliced through the cerulean waters. “Hold and wait for my signal!”

Her orders were relayed by the other officers. Her knuckles were white on the lacquered railing by the wheel where she stood as she watched that ship inch closer and closer. She could make out figures on board - arms raised, weapons brandished. They were jeering at them, hollering battle cries limned with bloodlust.

_ Let’s see them jeer with our cannons in their hull. _

“Steady!” she snapped. They were so close now. Each individual cannon could be seen along her side, each barrel aimed straight for the _ Profiler _.

Two seconds more.

One.

Emily gripped the railing and hollered at the top of her lungs: “_ FIRE!” _

_ BOOM. _

With a sound like a hundred thunderclaps, the _ Profiler _ rocked on the waves from the force of every cannon on the starboard side letting loose its torrent of flame. Not a split second later, the _ Queen _ did the same. The impacts of the cannonballs sent shockwaves through the decks.

Emily flinched at the sound and sight of crunching wood, gritting her teeth. She could only imagine the chaos belowdecks. The cannons ripped loose from their moorings. The beams shattered. The crew injured. “_ RETURN FIRE! _”

Her cannons did, but their timing was not nearly the same. They were swabbing the barrels and loading the guns while taking return fire from the pirates, as well. While their crew members were struck with debris.

The _ Queen _ fired again, but this time it was accompanied by an earsplitting _ crack _. Emily ducked as razor-sharp shards sprayed across the deck, and her gut turned to ice when she saw what happened.

The main mast. A chain shot had ripped clean through, punching a deep, splintered channel through it. The wood gave a tremendous groan and began to list, ropes around it both pulling tight and draping loose. There was a scream. The poor soul who had been on the crow’s nest fell over the edge of the ship, flailing. He hit the water with a smack.

Emily’s breathing caught in horror as she took in the damage. _ Not good. _

And then the pirates on board the _ Black Queen _ pulled out grappling hooks and hurled them across the channel between their ships.

_ They’re boarding. _

Emily drew her sword with a metallic ring. “Brace for boarding!” she screamed to the crew on deck. Swords and pistols and muskets were drawn.

Frantically, she tried to snatch a glimpse of who was giving the orders to board on the pirate ship. Garcia was in custody, but who had taken her place? Who had assumed the title of captain in her stead? She just couldn’t make it out. She thought she caught snippets of another woman hollering the same way she was, but the cannonfire was too deafening and the white smoke was too thick. There was no way to be sure.

And then, figures were swinging from the pirate ship to hers.

She was there when the first pirate hit the deck, her sword swinging to connect with his with a clang.

The scene dissolved into chaos from there.

Gunshots. Flashing blades, shouting men. Emily ducked and wove, her jacket flaring out behind her, as she parried and lunged and took down any pirate in her way. The sleeve of her coat was sliced wide open, but a sharp kick to the knees had the man down in a second. She lost all sense of the passage of time - it was nothing but slash. Block. Thrust. Hit. Duck. Move. Swing.

_ Pain _.

Emily felt a shout rip from her throat as white-hot agony tore a searing line through her tricep. She dropped her sword. Her other hand came up to clasp the wound, blood seeping through her fingers.

Gunshot. Pistol.

Before she could even react - even duck to recover her blade - a boot kicked it away into the melee and a fist connected with her cheekbone.

Stars exploded in Emily’s vision, rapidly blurring with water. She blinked both away, pulling out her pistol from her belt to round on her attacker.

Not attacker. _ Attackers. _ There were at least four of them on her. Her arm was wrenched to the side, jarring her pistol from her grip. She screamed a wordless cry as she bared her teeth. A kick to the back of her knee. She dropped.

Another fist - this time, to her nose. Pain lanced through her skull in starbursts radiating from the impact. Hot blood slid down her upper lip into her mouth. She gasped.

Two pairs of hands shoved her down, making her jaw crack against the wood of the deck, next to a splatter of blood. She could feel the vibrations of the thumping feet around her through the wood. She threw all her strength into a violent buck, attempting to roll. It was to no avail. A knee dug into the small of her back. Metal rang. The shocking cold of a very sharp blade was pressed against her neck. Right over where the artery pulsed with her lifeblood.

“I’d keep still if I were you, Commodore,” a voice rasped. Too close to her ear.

Snarling, Emily tried again to free herself - maybe to roll - but those hands just held her down harder and that blade - dagger - dug into the soft flesh under her jaw. Blood trailed down her neck.

Gritting her teeth harder, she stilled under her captors’ weight.

From her pinned position on the deck, she couldn’t see much. The bright flashes of uniforms. The skid of boots. The fall of blood, splattering the planks here and there. Shouting men and swinging blades and firing guns.

Men were on the ground. Her men. Some pirates, yes, but… those were her men. 

_ This was orchestrated. This blitz attack on my ship… _

_ And we’re… we’re _losing.

Another pair of boots thudded on the planks - but these stopped, squarely before her. Emily craned her neck upwards as far as the blade at her chin would allow, sneering.

A woman.

The twin swords by her side were sheathed, as were the pair of pistols hidden just inside the lapels of her long jacket. So this woman hadn’t seen battle just yet. Her hands were on her belt as she looked down at Emily. 

Emily didn’t recognize her face. Dark eyes shadowed by her flat, dark brows, lined with cosmetics to further add to the dangerous lilt in her expression. Her hair was short and pin-straight, tucked behind her ears and under her wide-brimmed hat to frame her sharp jaw in blades. When the corner of her mouth ticked up in the barest of arrogant smirks, Emily fought the urge to lunge for her throat.

“Hello, Prentiss,” the woman crooned.

“_ Commodore _,” she spat back. 

“Oh. My mistake, Commodore.” That look in her eyes had Emily thoroughly convinced that she wasn’t at all sorry. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Get off my _ ship _.”

“Actually,” she narrowed her eyes, “Seeing as you’re on the ground, pinned by my men, I’d say this is _ my _ ship now, Commodore.”

“_ Bitch _ ,” Emily spat at the captain - for it had to be the new captain of the _ Black Queen _ that stood before her. The way she held her chin high and strode through melee without a speck of blood on her could be indicative of nothing else. “Who _ are _you? How did you come about that ship of yours?”

“Questions later. I have some ends to wrap up here.” She turned to the men around her - the battle on the deck had mostly wound down, Emily realized with a jolt. And the men still standing were_ not _ her own. “I want every man on this ship up on this deck _ right _now,” the captain demanded. “Round them all up. Search every inch.”

_ Spencer _.

Emily gave her restraints another desperate yank, but her captors held her firm. The woman glanced down at her with a smirk. “Problem, Commodore?”

“Who do you think you are?” she snarled. No pirate had been able to best her like this. No pirate had ever come close. But now, this one had - and at a time when her friend was on board.

“Who do I think I am? Do you not know?”

“I have no idea who you are.”

She huffed a single laugh, then bent down to grip Emily’s chin in her hand. “You will,” she smirked. “Soon, the name _ Captain Cat Adams _ will be more feared than that of any other pirate - even more so than that fool _ Garcia _.”

She jerked Emily’s face to the side as she let her go, then turned on her heel to stalk along the length of the ship with her men.

_ Captain Cat Adams. _

The crew of the _ Profiler _ was marched up the steps in clusters, handed over to the pirates still on the deck to be restrained in a line. Emily was forced to watch them from her pinned position, scanning their faces for large, brown eyes and long, wavy hair. Each time a man’s head poked above the opening, her heart gave a painful lurch. 

But none of them were Spencer. They kept marching them up, but her friend was not among them.

_ Did… did he manage to hide? _

Cat Adams had her arms crossed as she surveyed their faces, once the trail of captives began to thin out. Her intense eyes were narrowed, her scowl deepening. She almost… looked like she was searching for something specific in the faces of her crew. And wasn’t finding it.

“Captain!”

The call of yet another pirate from the steps drew Cat’s attention - and Emily’s.

And every fleeting hope that she’d been desperately harboring was dashed upon seeing the man in the pirate’s grip.

_ No. Not Spencer. _

But it was Spencer. Back straight. Fearful eyes turned straight to Emily, widening as they beheld the state she was in. Emily wanted to scream.

“Found this one in the cargo hold,” the pirate said, jostling the governor’s nephew. “Thought hiding behind a few barrels would keep him out of sight. Found this on him, too.” He tossed the captain Spencer’s rapier in its sheath. “Rather fine, ain’t it?”

Cat’s eyes swept over the weapon in her hands - Emily could see that it was indeed of very fine craftsmanship. _ Is that a new one? Did he lose his other sword already? _

And then the captain’s gaze cut to the young man.

Emily felt the sudden protective urge to leap up and tackle her before she could do anything to him.

“Fine indeed,” Cat said, her voice a crooning drawl as she raked her gaze up and down her latest captive. She took three slow, deliberate steps until she was standing squarely before him, his sword still dangling loosely in her hands. “And who might you be, hm?”

_ Don’t tell her _ , Emily begged him silently. _ Don’t tell her your name, don’t tell her who your uncle is, don’t tell her anything… she’ll kill you, or worse… _

Spencer swallowed. “I’ll tell you, but only if you tell me who you are and why you’re doing this,” he said, his voice surprisingly level despite the fear in his eyes. 

_ What is he doing? _

Cat raised an eyebrow. “You want to play that game, huh?”

“I do.”

She turned away. “Very well,” she said, loud enough for the rest of the crew to hear. She began pacing slowly down the line. “Gentlemen - and lady,” she called, sending Emily a smirk, “The name’s Captain Cat Adams, and if you forget it, I _ personally _guarantee that you will come to regret it before the end.”

Emily tried to meet Spencer’s eyes, but he kept his own fixed squarely on the captain. _ Watching his enemy. Watching her for an opening… a weakness… _

_ He knows what he’s doing. He’s going to get himself out of this… he’s going to get us all out of this… _

“As for why I’m here, well…” she gestured to their bonds, to the aftermath of the battle scattered across the deck. “That should be rather obvious, shouldn’t it? I’m here to pillage, plunder, and otherwise make myself a scourge upon the authorities.” She finally rounded back on Spencer, now several paces away. “Satisfied?”

He didn’t respond.

“What was that? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your _ name _, sir.”

“I didn’t give it yet.”

Cat slowly dragged the pad of her thumb over the keen edge of the sword in her hand a few times, testing its sharpness before leveling that dangerous look on him again. “Better hurry up, then.”

“I don’t think you’re telling me everything.”

“From where I see it, you’re not in any kind of position to question that, now _ tell me your name _.” When he hesitated, Cat narrowed her eyes. “Have it your way, then.”

And then she lunged with her sword, but not for him.

For _ Emily. _

“_ Spencer! _”

The blade froze a mere hairsbreadth away from Emily’s neck, the cold metal just grazing her skin.

Spencer’s eyes were wide, still pinned to Cat. He’d strained against his captor after he’d shouted his own name. Given it up in a desperate attempt to save Emily’s life.

_ But that hadn’t been part of his plan. _

She could tell it in his eyes.

Cat straightened, lithe and intentional. The sword still hovered close to Emily’s neck. “Spencer _ what, _” she demanded.

There was only the slightest hint of hesitation before the governor’s nephew said, “Spencer Morgan.”

_ The weaponsmith, _ Emily noted but kept to herself. Her friend didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink when Cat finally approached him again, tipping her head to the side, letting her pin-straight hair hang. “Spencer… Morgan,” she said, testing out the name on her tongue. 

“I’m an attendant to the commodore. You wanted my name, now you have it.”

Cat nodded once, still considering him. “I do, don’t I… Spencie.”

His jaw set. “_ Spencer _.”

“_ Spencie _ ,” she repeated. “Well, whatever I call you, I hope you’re thinking pretty highly about your intuition right about now, considering how quickly you figured me out. Because you were absolutely right, Spencie, I _ didn’t _tell you everything about why I chased down Commodore Prentiss’ ship here.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So what didn’t you tell me, then.”

“I found myself in the possession of an interesting bit of news recently,” she said, slowly beginning to circle him. “_ I _ heard that Commodore Prentiss was going to prance about on a victory lap of the archipelago after her stellar capture of Captain Garcia… and that she would be carrying some _ extra _ special cargo with her. The nephew of Governor Gideon himself.”

A tendon flickering in his neck was the only indication of his dread that he gave.

“So, then, _ I _ figured, now _ there’s _ a bit of luck - what’s to stop me from taking advantage of _ that _? I mean, it’s not every day a member of the governor’s household strays so far from the safety of Port Quantico. Figured I could fetch a pretty ransom for a man like him, right, boys?” She directed that last bit at her own pirates, who murmured and chuckled amongst themselves.

“But _ then _ ,” she said, coming around his other side, her smirk darkening into an expression far less cheerful but no less dangerous, “I go through all the trouble of engaging the ship in a broadside, boarding it, rounding up everyone on board, and what do I find? Or rather, what _ don’t _ I find?”

“Your ransom target,” he said flatly.

“Yes. My ransom target. There isn’t a _ single _ man on this ship who claims to be the nephew of Jason Gideon. But you know what I _ do _ find?” Cat lifted the sword and brought it _ very _ close to Spencer’s throat, tracing it through the air. Her eyes were blazing, now. “I find a handsome young man cowering in the cargo hold, exactly where _ I’d _ stash an important person to keep them safe in a broadside. Not only _ that _ ,” she added, prodding at the lapels of his jacket with the point, “But he’s bedecked in some _ very _ fine articles of clothing. This _ fancy jacket _ isn’t military colors, so he’s not a soldier. Those _ boots _ don’t have a scratch on them, so he can’t _ possibly _ be a member of the crew. And he tells me he’s an _ attendant? _ Those soft hands haven’t seen a day’s work of _ any _kind of labor in his life.”

Emily’s heart was sinking deeper and deeper with every word the captain spoke. She strained her arms, her legs, testing to see if the men on top of her would give her any freedom - but it was not to be. They only held her tighter, so tight she could almost feel them cutting off circulation - and her gunshot to the arm was still agonizing, still bleeding down her sleeve. She gritted her teeth.

“So, now I’m pretty damn pissed off,” Cat snapped. She was almost shouting now. “So, _ pardon _ me for my insensitivity when I tell you, Spencer _ Morgan _ , that I don’t believe your half-assed story for a _ second _ . Traipsing around the Commodore’s ship in getup like that? You’re no attendant. No, _ I _ think you’re Spencer _ Reid _ \- and a dirty rotten _ cheater _to boot.”

“You cheated, too,” was all he said to her.

“You _ lied _ to my face in a game of honest deception, and I don’t like liars - _ especially _ liars that can make me _ rich _ .” The smile that snaked up her face was nothing short of serpentine - and Spencer didn’t even bother trying to mask the horror on his own when she said what she said next. “You’re coming with _ me _, Spencie.”

“_ He’ll do no such thing! _ ” Emily finally screamed, throwing all of her energy into a lunge. The men holding her down grunted as she strained with renewed vehemence. “You filthy bitch, you lay a hand on him and I’ll bring down the _ entire navy _ on your head -”

“Oh, shut her up, she’s no fun anymore,” Cat sneered. 

“_ NO! _ ” Emily _ pulled _ \- and one hand sprang free at last. Her muscles barked from the sudden freedom of mobility. She twisted, spat, clawed at the men holding her down. She had to escape, had to get to that damned captain, had to get to Spencer before she took him, before she took him, before she -

Something hard cracked into her skull, and blackness swallowed up her vision before she even hit the deck.

* * *

Cat paw.

All of Emily’s consciousness was tapered to that single touch of a cat’s paw to her shoulder. Everything else was a black, fuzzy haze. She was floating. She didn’t want to stop.

The paw was removed. Then it pressed into her again. Harder this time. Less patient. 

Emily furrowed her brows against the dark haze in her mind - a haze that, despite her best interests, was sharpening into a migraine. The feel of linen against her skin. A searing ache in her arm.

And that incessant cat paw prodding at her other arm. Now accompanied by a low meow.

_ That’s enough out of you _. Emily made out those words, spoken by a low, male voice. She squinted her eyes shut again before finally giving in and prying them open.

“Prentiss?”

She turned her head - but winced sharply as pain lanced through her skull. She was on a bed. Her bed. These were her quarters. Beside her was a dark blur that soon solidified into a brown face she recognized. One of her officers.

Steven Walker.

“Walker?” she groaned.

“Good to see you’re up,” the man smiled somberly.

Emily winced again as she felt the weight shift on her mattress. “Is that Sergio?”

“It is. Did he wake you with all his prodding?”

“Yeah.” She glanced over at the black cat, currently pawing at a wrinkle in her sheet a little ways away on the bed. Sergio lifted his head to glance her way before he tactfully ignored her again. “Brat,” she said to him. He didn’t respond.

Walker’s face fell. “Prentiss, about… about that pirate. Cat Adams.”

Emily finally met his eyes, and everything came crashing back when she saw his expression. _ Cat Adams. _

_ Captain Cat Adams. The _ Black Queen _ . The battle. The boarding. _

_ Oh, God, Spencer - _

“Where’s Spencer?” She went to sit up, but putting pressure on her injured arm forced a cry from her throat. She hissed. “Reid. Spencer Reid, where -”

“Prentiss.” Walker placed a hand on her shoulder, stilling her. “He… he’s gone.”

_ Gone. _

_ No. _

“Cat took him. After she had her men knock you out, she hauled him to her ship. Rest of her crew, too. They high-tailed it out of there and left us all tied up. Lieutenant Rossi got himself free first and helped everyone else out…”

Emily couldn’t focus on his words, even as they were spoken so soothingly. Her head fell heavy against her pillow again and vision went in and out of focus.

_ He can’t be gone. He can’t be gone. _

_ Cat couldn’t have kidnapped him this easily. _

“I’m sorry,” Walker said.

She just shook her head distantly. “How long was I out?”

“The battle went down in the late morning. The sun is setting, now.”

“Are… are we still in the middle of the sea?”

“No. The main mast was busted in the broadside, but the crew managed to rig up the rest of the sails. We’re sailing back to Port Quantico - maybe a day or so out, at our current speed.”

_ Port Quantico. _

_ I’ve never sailed back to Port Quantico like this before. Defeated. Defeated by a pirate with absolutely nothing to show for it. No intel. No hint of where Cat Adams might be heading with Spencer on board. _

_ What am I going to tell the governor? _

“We didn’t send out any messengers ahead of us,” Walker said. “The officers and I… assumed you wouldn’t want news of this spreading too far.”

Emily closed her eyes.

“We’ll regroup. We’ll get him back, Prentiss.”

Maybe it was the fact that she was bedridden from her wounds, and from the migraine that seemed to pound harder with every passing second, but Emily couldn’t help but feel a crushing weight settle over her like a cowl. And she wasn’t feeling very optimistic about their prospects of doing what Walker so hopefully promised. 

_ Get him back. How can we possibly get him back? We have no leads. None. _

_ For all I know, Spencer might already be dead. _

No. Cat had mentioned the prospect of ransom during her verbal duel with the governor’s nephew, and ransom didn’t work if the person being ransomed no longer drew breath. Spencer was alive. He had to be. He’d be alive long enough for the ransom note to reach the governor’s desk.

So Emily had until that time to find him alive. After that point, for each day that passed… the chance of finding a body instead would only grow more and more likely.

_ But I can do nothing with this useless, crippled colossus of a ship. I can do nothing injured like this. _

_ And to remedy both… I must show my face in the very last port I wanted to. _

Emily could have laughed, but it still hurt too much. Just yesterday… hell, just this _ morning _ when she awoke in this very bed, she thought she’d be returning to Port Quantico as Spencer Reid’s reluctant fiancee. She thought she’d be returning to fanfare and frivolous pomp. She thought that the only worry that would be looming over her shoulders would be the worry that her career was beginning to crumble.

Never could she have imagined that any of this would happen instead. She thought she would be returning with a fiance. She thought that would be the most of her worries.

But that worry paled in comparison to the utter disaster she was faced with now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful with all that anti-marriage talk, Emily, your lesbian is showing ;)
> 
> Our antagonist makes her appearance, and she's not pulling any punches. How will our protagonists handle the situation, now that the problem of Cat Adams has turned VERY personal? Stay tuned in the coming days, I post a chapter a day... this fic is only getting started!


	4. The Weaponsmith

The commodore’s ship limped into the harbor in the dead of night. By morning, the story behind her untimely return was all over the city.

Derek’s hammer had slipped out of his hand and hit the ground beside him with a _ bang _ when he first heard the news. He was honestly lucky he didn’t break every bone in his foot. 

Not like he would have even noticed if he had.

_ Ambush on the high seas. Pirates. The crew subdued. _

_ And the governor’s nephew. _

_ Kidnapped. _

Derek couldn’t breathe as that word turned over and over in his head.

_ Reid. _

The innkeeper and the armorer were still gossiping in the street just outside the smithee’s open door, even though Derek had dropped out of their conversation. The armorer glanced his way. “You alright, Morgan? You look pale,” she said.

“Where’s the commodore,” Derek breathed. _ Reid. Kidnapped by pirates. _

The innkeeper jabbed his thumb up the street. “Last I heard, she was holding an emergency meeting with all her men in the fort. Fella who stayed overnight last night had to leave bright and early this morning to get up there in time - aye, where are you going now?”

His feet pounded against the cobblestone road as he broke into a dash, fists clenched and swinging. Up the road. Up to where the fort sat on the crest, overlooking the bay. One thought, and one thought only, was spurring him on as he ran blind.

_ Reid. _

_ Kidnapped._

* * *

“Commodore, the weaponsmith, Derek Morgan, requests to join your audience.”

Beyond the door, Derek heard a woman draw in a breath and let it out. “Granted. Let him in.”

He barely waited for the soldier to open the door fully before he pushed in. The small, open courtyard in the center of the keep was filled with officers in full uniform. He recognized many of them - after all, most of the weapons in the room had been commissioned and made in his forge by his own hand. A large table had been set up in the middle, strewn across with maps, papers, and various instruments. Derek spotted the heavily-embroidered coat of Governor Gideon among them, his worry etched deep into his features.

And at the center of the table, one arm braced against the wood, was Commodore Prentiss, her other arm bandaged in a sling and her jacket draped across her shoulders. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She lifted her head and straightened. “Mr. Morgan. This is a surprise.”

“What happened?” Derek’s mouth was dry. “What happened to Reid?”

The commodore’s eyes widened the smallest bit. “You… how did you find that out?”

“The innkeeper was talking about it in the square, said a few patrons trickled in last night with some story about a pirate raid.”

“Some of the crew did jump ship when we made port, ma’am,” Lieutenant Rossi murmured to the commodore. She dropped her chin and swore under her breath.

Derek’s fists were still clenched by his sides, tight enough to hurt. “Well? What happened to him, where is he?”

“We don’t know.” Commodore Prentiss’ eyes bored into his. Grief and regret were evident in her expression. “We don’t know where he is.”

“We were attacked,” Lieutenant Hotchner explained. “The pirates opened fire and boarded the ship. The captain had heard news that the governor’s nephew would be on board, and she scoured it until she found him.”

“Captain Cat Adams,” said the commodore. A darkness settled over her features. “That’s what she called herself. And the ship she was sailing was none other than the _ Black Queen _.”

Black Queen. Somewhere in his memory, that name triggered something. The slightest recollection. Where had he heard that name before… 

“Spe… Reid tried to protect his identity, but Cat… she saw right through him. She’s wickedly smart.” Commodore Prentiss shook her head, her loose hair swinging by her face. “As of right now, Mr. Morgan, though I’m touched you came to visit personally, you may return to your forge.”

“No,” he said, still reeling. “I… Commodore, I have plenty of weapons - swords, pistols, muskets - already made. I can supply every man in this yard with as many as they need, I’ll give you everything I have, load up your ships for the counterstrike -”

“Counterstrike?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Mr. Morgan, there… there is no counterstrike. We don’t have any leads as of yet.”

Derek’s insides turned to ice.

“I understand your concern, and I thank you for the offer, we’ll keep it in mind, but… I’m sorry, we’re just not at that point yet.”

_ No leads. _

_ Reid is out there, alone in the clutches of a pirate… and there are no leads. _

“What point are you at, then?” he said, his voice weaker than he’d intended.

The commodore’s jaw clenched and her eyes flicked to the side. “Strategizing,” she decided. “But, I assure you, if and when your services are required, I will personally oversee the order, don’t worry -”

“Don’t _ worry? _ ” Derek felt his temper rising, creeping higher the more he looked at the gathering of military officers, some of the finest in the world, standing around and _ strategizing _ when there was no information to strategize around. “Reid’s in _ danger _ , and you expect me not to _ worry? _”

“Morgan, you’re his close friend, isn’t that right?” Commodore Prentiss said, a hard edge sliding into her tone. 

Derek’s angry retort… suddenly died in his throat. Suddenly, he had no words. 

Close friend. 

_ Close friend? _

Of course he was close to the governor’s nephew. That was obvious. He’d come by the forge enough times requesting a new sword, he sure _ hoped _they were close. 

And every time he did, Derek could have just handed the kid a blade right off the rack each time, but did he ever do that? No. No matter how many times Reid came to him, Derek always - _ always _ \- crafted him one from scratch. Always strove to make it better than his last. It was the least he could do for him.

But… _ friend? _

Something about settling with that lone, simple word… didn’t sit right with Derek, for some reason, and he didn’t know why.

_ No. You do know why. _

_ You sure as hell can’t say it out loud right now, but you know _ exactly _ why you don’t want to settle with friendship, Derek Morgan. _

Commodore Prentiss must have taken his silence as a confirmation, because she leaned her uninjured hand back on the table wearily. “Well, I’m his friend too,” she said. “I want him back and safe just as desperately as you do. And I _ assure _ you, we are going to do _ everything _in our power to see that it is done. The military has this situation covered.”

Do _ you want him back just as much as I do, Commodore Prentiss? Do you really? Have you ever stayed up late at night for hours, pouring your heart into a gift that you know will most likely be lost before the month is out? Have you ever looked forward to it, because you know you’ll be able to see him again? _

_ He’s your friend, sure, but do you love him more than that? _

_ Because… I do. _

“Now, I thank you for your concern, but I suggest you _ return to your forge _ \- by your own accord - so I don’t have to send one of my officers away from this critical meeting to escort you out.”

Derek didn’t have a response for that one. His eyes flicked from face to face, all of them watching him intently, waiting to see what he would do. The governor in particular seemed to be silently pleading for him to leave the saving of his nephew to the professionals. 

So, his body still humming with tension, feeling no less upset than he had when he arrived… Derek nodded his head once, stiffly, then turned. And walked out of the circle of officers.

Each step through the corridors and stairwells of the fort was harder to take than the last.

_ I can do nothing. _

_ They can do nothing. Nothing is being done to save him, not quickly enough at least. Who knows how long he’s going to last? Who knows how long we have to find him alive? _

_ What’s happening to him right now? _

A whole host of horrifying possibilities crowded his mind’s eye, and his stomach felt sick considering any one of them for more than a second. 

_ This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening… not to him… anyone but him… _

Hot, humid air met him. Derek halted before he reached the gate of the fort, squeezing his eyes shut, slamming a fist against the cold, unyielding wall. More images came to his mind, but this time he did nothing to dispel them.

_ A smile. A real one, a burst of absolute elation. Bright as the sun. _

_ Dark brown eyes. Downcast eyelashes. _

_ An indignant pressing-together of his lips. _

_ Hands. Always moving, moving, motioning, as he talks and talks about everything and anything, most of which Derek can hardly follow. Eyebrows that flick up to accentuate his words, hand gestures, always talking with his hands - _

_ “The Black Queen? They don’t know.” _

Derek froze. 

The _ Black Queen. _

He _ knew _ he’d heard that name before. Reid had said it, he could _ hear _ the way the man’s voice had sounded saying those words. He was _ definitely _ talking about the same ship Commodore Prentiss had mentioned. But _ when _ did he say them in _ what context… _

_ God, why don’t I ever pay attention to what the kid was actually _ saying _ instead of getting caught up watching his pretty eyes and his hands as he rambles… _

_ “The Black Queen? They don’t know.” _

It hit him out of the blue.

_ This past time I went up to the manor _. 

That was it. That was _ it _, because that had been the same morning that female pirate captain was hauled into Port Quantico. Reid had been talking about the capture, how the authorities hadn’t been able to find the captain’s ship at the time they caught her.

_ And now that same ship has him. _

_ Oh, Reid… _

_ Wait. _

Derek’s hand slid down the wall as another thought struck him. _ The pirate captain. The woman. What was her name… _He wracked his brain, but he just couldn’t remember what it was. He had to have heard it somewhere, Reid had probably said it at some point, but Derek didn’t have the kid’s frighteningly-perfect memory. 

_ It doesn’t matter, though. The very pirate who used to captain the _ Black Queen _ is in our custody. She’s in this fort right now. She must be in the dungeon in the fort’s base, if I had to guess. _

_ Maybe she knows something about this Captain Cat Adams woman who’s sailing her ship around. _

_ And maybe she knows how to catch her. _

Without a moment of hesitation more, Derek shoved off the wall and turned around, delving back into the cool, dark air of the fort for the staircases that led down.

* * *

Her blonde curls were limp and haggard, eyes closed, head resting against the bars. Her back was partially turned away from the corridor that led into the dungeon. Morgan glanced back down the way he came - it seemed all the guards were up in the keep with the commodore. It wasn’t like the pirate could go anywhere or plan anything, after all. Her effects were in the guard room and there were no other criminals in the cells.

He hesitated. Maybe she was asleep. He still hadn’t remembered her name, and he wasn’t sure what he would do if she didn’t respond. He felt terribly awkward, standing there, peering around the wall.

_ Well, say _ something _ . She’ll never know you’re just standing here if you don’t say anything. _

He cleared his throat.

She didn’t move. 

Gritting his teeth and sending another glance back. _ What was her blasted name? Did it start with a G? It was… Spanish, wasn’t it? G… Gonzales? No, it was shorter than that. Shorter, shorter… Gomez? _

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey… Gomez.”

Derek thought he saw her head lift the tiniest bit, but he couldn’t be sure. He was getting desperate. There was no telling when a guard might walk by. He gripped the wall tighter and said, “Hey. Babygirl.”

_ That _got her attention. The pirate’s head turned, and she looked him in the eye. 

Mortification washed over him. _ Babygirl? Did I really just call this woman Babygirl? This isn’t some wench from a brothel, this isn’t some lady off the street, this is a criminal, a _ pirate captain, _ you seriously just addressed a pirate as Babygirl - _

“Babygirl?” her voice lilted. But she didn’t look upset or dangerous, to Derek’s surprise - one of her eyebrows was raised, the corner of her mouth curving upwards in a half smile.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“I’ve been called worse,” she said, shifting around and placing one elbow on her knee, letting her hand dangle. There was chipped red paint on her nails. “I remember you.”

Derek blinked. “You… remember me?”

She hummed in confirmation. “From the docks. I saw you in the crowd that day, you were the only one who didn’t seem to be jockeying for a good look at the convicted criminal. I’d never forget a face _ that _handsome.” Her other eyebrow lifted. “What brings you all the way down here?”

“Hold on, first things first here. What do you want me to call you?” he asked, still somewhat embarrassed that his first instinct to get her attention had been a pet name. “What’s your name?”

“Babygirl, apparently.”

“No, your real one.”

“Penelope Garcia.” _ So not Gomez. _ “ _ Captain _ Penelope Garcia, if you want to get particular - though I guess that title is technically revoked, now, seeing as I don’t have a _ ship. _”

Derek noted the emphasis on that last word, the way her eyes had narrowed.

“But you can _ call _ me whatever you want,” Garcia added. “Babygirl’s fine with me. How about you? What can I call you?”

“Derek Morgan.”

She nodded. “Hi, Derek.”

Hoping to build off her reaction to no longer having a ship to captain, he stepped more fully into the room. “Listen,” he said, “I need your help.”

“My help?” She gave an exaggerated survey of her surroundings. “Not sure what I’ll be able to do for you stuck in here, but go for it. Always happy to help.”

“How much have you heard about what happened last night?”

Her attention sharpened. “What happened last night?”

_ I’m not surprised she doesn’t know. It sounded like Commodore Prentiss had intended to keep the situation under wraps as much as possible. _ “The commodore’s ship showed up in port in the middle of the night,” he explained. “ _ Weeks _ before it should have. It had been attacked by pirates.”

“If you’re suggesting I had anything to do with it, you’re sorely mistaken. I mean…” Garcia waved a hand at her cell. “Look at me.”

Derek clenched his jaw. “Well,” he said hesitantly, “I was hoping you’d know something useful, seeing as it was _ your _old ship that did the damage.”

Her eyes flew open and she gripped the bars of her cell. “The_ Queen?” _ she hissed. 

“It was captained by someone calling herself Captain Cat Adams. Do you know her?”

“Know her?” she exclaimed, her nose scrunching into a sneer. “I _ hired _ the woman, before she stabbed me in the back. What do you want from her?”

Derek dropped down on his knees, bringing his face down so he could look straight into her eyes. “She kidnapped someone very important,” he said, his voice quavering against his will. _ Very important to me. _

“That sounds like Cat.”

“I need to get him _ back _. The commodore is strategizing blindly with no direction, he might not have that kind of time.”

“Well, I’m really sorry,” Garcia said, “But like I said - I can’t do very much stuck in here.”

“You can tell me how to find her.”

She snorted. “I have no idea where she is. I know I’m known for procuring all the answers - especially answers I’m not _ supposed _ to procure - but I can’t help you there. Cat’s a loose cannon. She could be anywhere.”

“You have _ no _ intel? And what do you mean, you hired her?”

“No intel, I’m sorry. Cat Adams was my second mate on the _ Black Queen _. It’s her fault I’m in this cell and she’s sailing unchecked in the first place.”

Derek shot to his feet again, frustration rising hot in his chest. This had been his best shot. His only shot, but she can’t help him… _ Reid’s still out there… _

“Wait.”

He frowned in her direction. She was gazing off into space, one finger lifted in the air. She glanced up at him, the beginnings of an idea sparkling in her eyes. “I… I might know someone who knows where she is,” she said. “At the very least, she’ll have a pretty good estimate.”

“Who?” He dropped down yet again, frantically clinging to her every word.

But Garcia pursed her lips a tiny bit. “If I tell you… tell me, how do you plan on finding Cat and saving this very important person of yours?”

“I’ll… I’ll find a ship. I’ll sail to the ends of the earth to find him.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, but I don’t think you’ll make it all that far. You’re not a soldier or a noble, based on the look of your clothes. What’s your occupation, hm, Derek? Blacksmith? Miller? Do you have _ any _experience around ships?”

He ground his teeth. “I’m… a weaponsmith,” he admitted quietly.

“So I’ll take that as a no.”

“Just tell me who this contact is, and I’ll figure it out from there.” he said.

“I’ll do you one better,” she said, tapping her chin. “How about you let me out of this cell, and I’ll come with you on this grand escapade. The guard during the graveyard shift down here falls asleep every night, and he snores _ loud. _”

“No,” Derek deadpanned reflexively. Getting information from a convicted pirate was one thing, but teaming up with her? Springing her out of jail? He wasn’t sure he wanted to go that far.

_ But, by that logic… how far _ is _ too far? Where would the cutoff be, where saving Reid becomes too dangerous to even attempt? _

“Listen, Handsome, you’re not the only one with a bone to pick with Cat Adams,” she explained. “She’s out there, sailing around on _my_ ship. I want to stick it to her just as much as you do. We _both_ benefit from you freeing me, trust me. And there are _very_ few ships out there that can hold their own against the _Queen_ _and_ be crewed by a single man - but a vessel for a crew of two? Much easier to find.” She shrugged. “Face it. You need me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, studying her expression. There didn’t seem to be a note of treachery on her face… but, then again, he was talking to a _ pirate _. Master manipulators, the lot. “And if I decline?” he said. “Will you still give me the information I need?”

Garcia shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. “Only ‘cause I like you. But, I’m just going to tell you now, you’re going to have a rough time getting yourself out of the bay with your lack of seafaring experience. Even if, somehow, you manage to get yourself to where my contact is staying, I would _ not _ want to be you, walking around _ that _ town alone. And,” she continued, “We haven’t even _ touched _ on the issue of you attempting a rescue right out from under Cat Adams’ nose. _ Also _alone, I might add.”

“You think I can’t do it?”

“I _ know _you can’t do it, not even with those rippling weaponsmith’s muscles of yours.”

He blew air out of his nose and turned his head, scowling. He could be difficult all he wanted, but even he couldn’t deny that every word out of the woman’s mouth was the truth. He didn’t have the first clue how to sail a ship. He didn’t know how to take on a shipful of pirates any more than Reid did.

_ Reid probably knows how to sail, though, from all those books he reads… _

“How do I know you’re not going to turn on me, just like your second mate did?” he hazarded.

“You don’t trust me?” she batted her eyelashes at him.

“Considering your history of crime… forgive me if I don’t,” he said.

She laughed. “I give you my honest word that I will not turn on you at any time. I will take you to my contact, and we will draw up a plan to rescue your poor, trembling lover from the clutches of cruel, cruel Cat.”

Derek almost choked, his previous concern about treachery suddenly forgotten. “I… he’s…” Heat flushed up his face. “He’s not… my lover.” 

_ She just… she just said that out loud? That was her first assumption? That Reid and I are… _

_ Is… is that common for pirates? Two men… together? Publicly? _

“He’s not?” she frowned, but there was a hint of teasing in her eyes.

“_ No _,” he insisted. 

“Hm. From that tone of voice, I really thought he was. So who _ is _ he, then?”

“It’s… it’s the governor’s nephew that’s been kidnapped, he’s just my…” _ Friend. _He still couldn’t find it in himself to settle for that word. He swallowed. “His name is Spencer Reid.”

“The governor’s nephew, huh? Was he the pretty one with the long hair on the docks?”

“Yes.” Garcia’s eyebrows suddenly bounced high, and a fresh wave of mortified heat washed over him. “Wait, _ no _ , I… just… _ cut that out _.”

“Ahhh,” she mused, clearly quite pleased with herself. “I see. I get it now.”

“There’s nothing _ to _ get, just… no one’s considering all of their resources to save him,” he explained. “He’s… he’s the nephew of _ Governor Gideon _, he’s a high-profile figure in this town, he shouldn’t be in this situation, and someone needs to pull out all the stops in his rescue.”

“Oh, no I understand _ perfectly _ ,” she said, beaming. “Don’t you worry. Lover or no, your Spencer Reid will be home safe and sound in no time. But… _ only _ if you let me come along with you. Savvy?”

He studied her some more. Despite her shocking assumption… she didn’t seem scandalized by her own words in any way. She seemed perfectly relaxed, as if she’d asked him about hypothetical romantic relations with a woman instead of a man. 

And even after his terrible job at denying it, she still looked unfazed. Like this was something she was just… _ used _to.

_ So. Here we are. _

_ She most likely won’t turn me in. She wants to take Cat down, just like I do - plus, she did say that it would be best if two of us crewed a ship instead of just one. And I’m not inclined to turn _ her _ in, seeing as I can’t sail a ship. We have the same end goals. _

_ And she doesn’t seem bothered by… that. Whether she believed my cover-up or no. So… she won’t hold that against me. _

_ Probably. _

“Well, Derek?” she asked. She poked her hand through the bars, offering it. “Do we have an accord?”

He looked to her hand. Then to her face. Open. Guileless. _ Do I trust this pirate and risk the odds…? _

_ Or do nothing. Give up. And leave Reid to his fate. _

Putting it like that, his decision was immediate.

He clasped her hand in his. “I’d say we do… Babygirl.”

Her lips quirked into a smile. For a pirate, Derek could admit that this Penelope Garcia was cute. “Excellent. Oh,” she added, gripping his hand a little tighter as he tried to let go. “Just to make one thing clear. I hope you understand, in order to save your dear Reid, I’m going to ask you to do a lot of things. Dangerous things. _ Illegal _ things - the first of which being breaking me out of jail.” Her blue eyes flashed. “You can’t have any qualms about any of it. How far are you willing to go to save him?”

_ As far as I have to. There is no limit to how far I’d go for him. _He just matched her gaze with his own. “I’d die for him,” he told her in a voice low with conviction.

“Oh, good,” she smiled, letting go of his hand at last. “No worries then. See you tonight.”

“Wait, tonight?” Derek frowned, choosing to ignore her gallows humor. He glanced back at the corridor. 

“Yes, we’re doing it tonight,” Garcia said plainly. “As I recall, _ you _ were the one who was so worked up about Commodore Prentiss and her roundabout policies regarding saving the governor’s nephew the legal way. Why, do you have a prior commitment or something?”

“No.”

“Great. Then I’ll see you tonight. If you can get down here at midnight, the guard’ll be dead asleep by then and lifting his keys will be a cinch.” She wiggled her fingers at him, then settled back against the wall, sighing contently.

Derek got the impression that the conversation with his new ally was over. He could take a hint, though he was still a little wary about trusting this Captain Penelope Garcia as much as he had to.

Nevertheless, he rose and slipped out of the dungeon.

He’d be back.

_ And I’m going to save Reid if it’s the last thing I do. _


	5. Anchors Up

Penelope was roused from fitful slumber in her cell by the soft padding of feet down the hallway, just barely audible over the night guard’s incessant snores. Her eyes immediately snapped open and she turned to see the newcomer.

Broad shoulders silhouetted against the sconce on the wall.

After the meeting that had called all the guards to the commodore earlier that day, Penelope had almost been half-afraid that the guard shifts might have changed due to the crisis situation, and that her usual night guard might not show up as planned. Had it been anyone other than the man she had been closely observing, her plan would never get off the ground and Derek Morgan would have been thrown in a cell right alongside her.

But, by some luck of the stars, her usual guard was still with her - and now, so was Derek.

Before the weaponsmith could speak, Penelope instantly put a finger to her lips and pointed to the snoring guard on his bench. The soldier’s musket leaned against his knee and his head was lolled to one side. 

_ Out like a light. A cannon blast couldn’t wake him up now. _

But, of course, Derek didn’t know this. He gingerly stepped into the dim room and crouched just on the other side of the bars. She scooted closer to hear him. 

“Where are the keys?” he whispered.

“In his jacket somewhere,” she muttered right back.

“_ Where _in his jacket?”

“I don’t know, all my job entails is to provide you with the information. Going out and doing things is your job.”

“Okay, but what do I _ do _with your information, then?”

Penelope rolled her eyes. Sometimes she forgot how many moral reservations regular civilians had. “Search him and _ pick his pockets _,” she hissed. “I’d pick them for you, but in order to do that, I’d need the keys that get me out of this cell, which need to be pickpocketed first.”

She resisted the urge to laugh at the way Derek’s jaw clenched with indecision. Taking pity on him - his face was far too handsome to be plagued with such an expression - she leaned even closer. “You want to save the governor’s nephew from the pirates, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he muttered back.

“Well,” she shrugged, “In order to outsmart a pirate, you’re going to have to start acting like a pirate. I don’t make the rules.”

Derek glanced at the guard, who shifted in his sleep with a grunt. Then back to Penelope. Breathed a huff of air out through his nose. “I’m putting an awful lot of trust in you. I hope you know that.”

Penelope hummed with a smirk. “Oh, I do.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in the slightest bit against his will before he finally pushed back to his feet and edged towards the sleeping guard. 

Penelope watched with growing amusement as the weaponsmith made his best attempt at stealth. He hedged, leaned to this side and that, reached towards him before drawing his hand back again.

“He’s a very heavy sleeper,” she offered from her cell, fighting a grin.

“If he sleeps so heavily, how come you’re still whispering?” he hissed back.

“What kind of a jailbreak would this be if I didn’t?”

He shook his head. “Babygirl,” he said, “You be trippin’.”

“Pick the pocket, loverboy.”

He did. It was extremely entertaining to watch him pry back the lapel of the guard’s jacket and gingerly remove the ring of keys from wherever they had been stowed - without the guard so much as flinching. Penelope’s countless sleepless nights throwing things about her cage, testing the depths of the man’s slumber, were well deserved. Only armed with the knowledge that her fist pounding against her cell door wouldn’t wake him up could she have afforded to be so cocky. If _ she _couldn’t rouse him, then Derek’s hesitant prodding certainly wouldn’t.

The iron key slid into the lock moments later. The tumblers inside tripped with a few rasping clacks. And, with the greatest of care, keeping in mind the rusty hinges Penelope had noted when they first brought her in, her door finally opened.

And she was free.

Derek was telling her to hurry, claiming that another night patrol would certainly come sweeping the area sooner or later, but she merely brushed him off and crept to the closet that kept her things.

“What are you doing?” he whispered. His dark brows furrowed.

She gave him a look. “What kind of pirate do you think I am, thinking I’ll just run off and leave my effects in the clutches of these tactless officers?”

“Well, get a move on,” he said. “Anchors up in thirty. I’ll leave you behind.”

“No you won’t.” She wiggled her fingers in the air, selecting the chest under the table and sliding it out for better access. “You don’t even know how to _ accomplish _ the drawing up of an anchor.”

“I could figure it out.”

“Not before the commodore catches you, you can’t.” She held out her hand behind her, towards the man still in the corridor. “Keys, please.”

Penelope could almost feel him roll his eyes at her back, but the cool iron slipped into her awaiting palm nonetheless. After several unsuccessful attempts, the lock on the chest popped open. She grabbed everything of hers she saw - her coat, her bandolier with the pistol sheath, her belt, her sword. And her hat, of course. That wasn’t in the chest, though, it was hanging off the edge of a shelf just above her head. She whipped it off, cursing nosy guards. At least the red feather was still relatively pristine and not fouled by grubby, curious hands.

They made their escape.

Dodging the sparse patrols through the halls. Avoiding the pools of golden torchlight as much as possible, keeping to the shadowy back stairs and branch hallways. 

Until they made it out.

“Patrols seem unusually light tonight, I must say,” Penelope mused as they broke into the hot, steamy night and made a break for the treeline. Her leg muscles were groaning at the sudden demand placed upon them after so long in her cell. She’d tried to do some light exercises to get her heart rate up from time to time, but it wasn’t enough. She had already slipped out of prime shape.

“I did notice that,” Derek said as they plunged into the island foliage. “Which seems odd to me.”

“Been to the fort often?”

“I deliver weapons up there all the time. It’s odd we ran into so few of them, knowing that Commodore Prentiss is back in town. Her personal quarters are in the fort. If I didn’t know better, from the looks of the patrols around where she is… I’d think she was still out on the sea somewhere.”

Penelope frowned as she brushed away a palm leaf. “That noticeable, huh.”

“When she’s in town, patrols almost double. Tonight… they’re the same as on a day she isn’t here at all.”

“Maybe she spread them out. After all, a high-profile politician _ has _ been abducted. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a heavier presence up by the governor’s manor tonight.”

Derek shrugged as the trees began to thin out and roads and paths began to weave through the trees, interspersed with small plots of assorted crops at an increasing frequency. They were coming up on the town outskirts.

But Penelope wasn’t entirely put at ease, and she could tell from the set of Derek’s shoulders that he wasn’t, either. Something was definitely throwing off the guard patterns.

They slowed as they entered the town proper - still keeping out of direct line of sight, but since there were fewer people out and about, they didn’t concern themselves too much with stealth. Black shadows of buildings loomed past, broken occasionally by a sliver of light between shutters or a lantern hung under a hanging sign. Boarded-up stalls and the occasional abandoned cart lined the winding streets. Somewhere, a cat yowled.

Penelope threw herself against the side of a building, pressing Derek against it as well, when they reached the wharf. Ropes and pulleys creaked softly in the darkness. The moon illuminated everything in a faint edge of silver - including the bayonets of the handful of guards along the docks and in between the ships.

“Huh,” she murmured. “Here are some of our spread-out friends.”

“What are they doing down here? There’s nothing at the docks except for that big, wounded ship the commodore sailed in on,” Derek muttered.

Penelope shook her head, pulling the rim of her hat a little lower over her eyes. She surveyed what she could see of the docks from her current position. “Well,” she said, “There’s no use worrying about that now. There aren’t too many of them around.” She glanced over at Derek with a small smirk. “You’ve got us a ship all picked out, I hope?”

He shrugged with a hesitant expression. “I don’t know about that, but I did scout out that one,” he said, pointing a little ways away. Penelope followed his finger. Almost hidden in the shadow of the giant, battle-torn vessel was a much smaller one. Its hull was dark, its railings painted what seemed to be red. She couldn’t tell exactly. 

She considered it, lips pursed. “Why that one?”

“Because it’s one of the smallest around and I figured it could be crewed by two. I also haven’t seen it sail for months, nor has anyone boarded or disembarked it for at least that long. It’s been sitting pretty in the harbor for a long time.”

“Who owns it?”

“Dunno. Does it matter?”

She gave him a grin. “_ Now _ you’re thinking like a pirate. Kudos, Second Mate Morgan.”

He smirked back. “Hey, now, why am I only second mate?”

“Because I happen to be in the market for one of those at the moment.”

“You also happen to be in the market for the rest of a crew. How come I can’t be first mate?”

“Because my current first mate is the person we’re going to find once we commandeer that ship you so kindly picked out for us. We’re meeting up with her first, not tracking down Cat Adams right off the bat. Or have you forgotten?”

“I have not.”

“Then let’s go commandeer a ship, _ Second _ Mate.” She set off against the walls of the buildings lining the wharf, sticking to the shadows all the way, before he could object. He followed.

Penelope never took her eyes off the guards. She led the way, only moving when the scattered men turned their backs. Her feet were cat-silent in their boots as she crept to the docks and ducked behind a pile of barrels. Always watching.

Derek looked uncomfortable creeping around. His physique was not honed for espionage - Penelope could tell that skirting confrontations was making him antsy. He was a fighter. Someone who was used to running in and confronting a problem head-on. Very unlike herself, who preferred a strategic and planned-out strike to a full-out frontal assault. 

That trait in him could be useful in a pinch, she figured. Derek Morgan might just prove to be a much better ally than she’d initially assumed - and she’d already thought him highly competent to begin with.

The two of them halted right before the gangplank of the little ship he’d scouted. Penelope peered over the lip of the crates up at the ship, but from her low perspective she couldn’t see over the red-painted rails. 

_ That doesn’t matter. This one’s so tiny, they can’t possibly be wasting men guarding the deck. _

She looked to Derek, then inclined her head up at the deck. There were no guards on this branch of the dock at the moment. They had to move now. With the scrape of soles on wood, they rose as one and scurried up the gangplank.

And were suddenly face-to-face with a fully armed officer on the deck.

_ Of course. _

The man immediately gripped his musket in both hands, crossing it across his chest and leveling them both with a glare. “Halt. Speak your names, both of you.”

Penelope shot a glance Derek’s way. The moon was behind them, casting their faces in shadow - plus, she had her big hat.

“What business do you have on this ship? Speak, _ now _.”

“No thanks,” Penelope said, just as Derek rushed forward. He knocked the gun out of the man’s hands and had him pinned in a second. Quickly, before he could do much more than cry out in shock, Penelope snatched a rag that was lying on the deck and shoved it into the man’s mouth to gag him. He wrenched his head this way and that, grunting, but Derek’s hold was too strong.

“What do we do with him?” the weaponsmith asked.

“Tie him up and leave him on the docks.”

“Someone’ll find him.”

“We’ll be long gone before that happens.” She pushed herself to her feet and began searching the deck for some rope. 

The ship was quite neat, for one that hadn’t been seafaring for half a year. There weren’t many scraps lying around at all. _ Typical government ship, _ she mused, for it was definitely a military class vessel - albeit a smaller one. She’d counted perhaps a little over a half-dozen cannon ports lining its side, and there had to be the same number on the other. Yes, this ship could hold up nicely against the _ Black Queen _. She might even be faster than Penelope’s old ship.

_ No. It’s not my _ old _ ship, it’s just my ship. Not Cat’s. Not in the way she’s taken it. _

She finally managed to find a spare loop of rope shoved under the companionway, and made short work of tying the soldier’s hands and feet together. Derek took him down the gangplank as easily as though he were carrying a sack of potatoes, and Penelope couldn’t help but marvel a little. _ Oh yes. A very useful ally indeed. _

She was already loosening the mooring lines by the time he clambered back on board. He stood by, unsure of what he should do, until she directed him onto one new task or another. The minutes ticked by, slowly creeping towards hours as they prepared the ship. More than once, Penelope was forced to abandon her own task to hiss instructions and demonstrate to the poor weaponsmith how to make a ship ready to set sail. 

The sails creaked up the masts. The rigging was adjusted. The mooring lines were disengaged.

And, guided by the night breeze off the island, their stolen ship quietly slipped out of the docks.

Derek stood behind Penelope on the helm, watching his town slowly inch further away across the ever-growing span of bay between them. “No one’s raised an alarm,” he muttered.

“That’s good for us,” she mused cheerfully, one hand on the helm to keep the ship heading in the right direction.

He turned, frowning. “Shouldn’t that be a concern?” he asked.

“I choose not to be concerned. If they don’t find it strange that this particular ship is setting off in the middle of the night after months at port, then I’m not going to question out good fortune here,” she shrugged. 

He came around her and leaned against the railing before the helm, narrowing his dark eyes and crossing his arms. “What about the number of guards on the docks? There were more than usual. I take it you’re not worried about that little detail, either?”

“Nope.” She flashed him a smirk before training her eyes on the approaching mouth of the bay. After a few minutes, punctuated by no other sounds other than Derek’s uneasy sigh, she looked to him again - less snarkily this time. The planes of his face were drawn with worry.

He was looking back up at the governor’s manor.

“Hey,” she said gently. She angled her head at the steps that led down into the hull. “Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“I dozed off a little before you sprung me,” she said. “You, on the other hand, look exhausted. Physically and emotionally.”

He quirked his mouth in grudging confirmation.

“This has been a rough day for you. Sleep.”

He eyed her… but there was a hint of playfulness hidden in his exhaustion. “How do I know you’re not going to kill me in my sleep, hm?”

“Because I can’t sail this ship into Keg Town all by my lonesome, can I? Plus, you’re the brute strength between the two of us. I need you to take all the hits for me.”

A flash of white as he grinned. He had very nice teeth for a commoner. “Fair enough.”

“Get some sleep, lover.”

“Yes, Cap’n.”

She smiled to herself as he led himself down the companionway. “Oh, and Derek? Don’t even _ think _ about crashing in the captain’s quarters. That’s _ my _ room. You get the hammocks belowdecks.”

“_ Yes _, Cap’n,” he grinned again before slipping belowdecks.

Penelope sighed and placed both hands on the helm as the mouth of the bay slowly approached. There would be no sleep for her, not this night. She’d dozed enough throughout the day - and plus, the exhilaration of her freedom was finally catching up to her. She was on a ship. She was sailing the seas once more. She was out, she was _ free _. 

And she was finally on the path to her vengeance on Cat. She wasn’t going to give any of that up anytime soon.

The captain’s quarters would go undisturbed this night.

* * *

“Good morning.”

Penelope savored the look of utter bewilderment on Derek’s face as he squinted in the watery morning light from the darkness belowdecks. The morning was warm, the sun just starting to skim the mist from the tops of the waves. “How… long was I asleep?” he asked.

“All night. Well,” she shrugged cheerfully, “All the wee hours, I suppose, seeing as we only set sail in the middle of the night. You missed a lovely sunrise just now.”

He scaled the companionway, still somewhat bleary-eyed. “Why did you let me sleep? I thought you said we would take shifts.”

“You needed it more than I did,” she said. “Don’t you feel nice and rested now?”

“I suppose.” He twitched his mouth in reluctant agreement.

“Also, I wouldn’t have slept well at all with you at the helm.”

“And there it is.”

She grinned. They stood in silence for a while, listening to the wind wafting through the rigging and the sails, the ship softly cutting through the waves. It really was turning into a lovely morning - on the ocean, the subtropical heat that draped heavily on land was much relaxed.

Penelope sighed contentedly, shifting her weight onto one leg. “I like this ship you chose, Derek,” she said. “Very responsive. She handles quite nicely - and she’s got a certain style to her, as well, what with those fancy red rails and all.”

“Well. You’re welcome,” he nodded. “I took those qualities into consideration. Especially the technical ones.”

“I can tell,” she grinned, before she sighed once more. “Still,” she mused, “It could do with some sprucing up. I do miss my little trinkets I had on the _ Black Queen _.”

“Trinkets?”

“What, you didn’t think I’d just sail some ship and not add some personal decoration, did you? I mean, look who you’re talking to here.” She gestured to her outfit - lavender blouse with puffed sleeves, dark corset that laced up to her bust, and a dusky pink skirt that brushed her heels in the back but came up to the tops of her high-heeled boots in the front. It was a little grimy from sitting in a jail cell for so long, but she’d smoothed it out as best as she could. She’d still need to pick up some new clothes once they made port. 

Derek held up his hands. “My mistake.”

“I had some shells and carved figurines lined up on the rail here,” she elaborated, pointing at the rail before the helm. “I kept more in my quarters and switched them out regularly.”

_ Quarters that Cat is now occupying. _

Penelope felt a sense of homesickness all of a sudden, thinking about her beloved ship. Her trinkets on the helm. Her cabin. The ship they’d commandeered was nice, but it would never compare to her own.

She shook her head. “Cat’s probably chucked them all overboard by now,” she smiled grimly. “Just one more thing I’m gonna have to scrap with her for doing to me.” She glanced to Derek for a reaction to her poor attempt at humor… only to find him gazing off at the horizon, that mantle of worry descending over his features. Penelope immediately kicked herself.

_ Right. One more thing she’s done… which includes kidnapping the governor’s nephew and thrusting this stress onto Derek. _

He would most likely be in for more stress the closer they came to confronting Cat once and for all. He didn’t need to spend all that time riding high on his worry. So, hoping to dispel that look in his eyes, if only for a moment, she softened her gaze and said, “Tell me about him.”

Derek’s dark eyes flicked to her. “What?”

She shrugged. “Tell me about this person we’re saving, this nephew of Governor Gideon. What’s his name… Reid?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Spencer Reid.”

_ Talk about him. Not about his captivity - about _ him _ , this person you seem to adore so much. _“Right,” she said. “I don’t know anything about this man we’re endeavoring to rescue - other than what he looks like, from that day on the docks. Tell me about him as a person. What’s he like?”

Derek shook his head - but that was a touch of a fond smile on his lips. “Smart,” he said. “He’s incredibly smart.”

“A scholar?” Penelope asked. 

“Oh, no doubt. He’s read every book he’s ever been able to get his hands on, probably since he was born. And his _ memory _ …” Derek was grinning fully now. “It’s crazy. He remembers _ everything _ . Every word of every conversation, every fact from a book or a document or a record. I mean, he doesn’t forget _ anything _ . He could probably recite to me word for word an entire play that he hasn’t read for a decade. _ And _ pinpoint every stage direction with its corresponding line number.”

“Wow,” she grinned. “Is he bewitched or something? That sounds supernatural.”

She actually elicited a laugh out of him. “No,” he said, “I don’t think he’s had any run-ins with witches. That’s just how he is.”

Penelope nodded. “You know him pretty well, then.”

He shrugged. “I know him alright,” he decided. “I mean, our paths don’t cross very often - him being a politician, me being a weaponsmith. But we do see each other from time to time.” He tipped his head to one side, considering. “Sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes when he’s around me, I get the feeling that he’s more relaxed than usual. Maybe it’s just because I’m not a noble like him, maybe talking to me just doesn’t carry the same weight of expectation… but I don’t know. He’ll go off on a tangent, gushing facts and statistics about God-knows-what, talking with his hands… and I just listen. I don’t understand half of it usually, but… he always looks so happy telling me this stuff that I just let him ramble. I kinda get the feeling that not everyone in his life does that.”

It made Penelope smile, watching Derek talk about this Spencer Reid. There could be no denying the look of absolute adoration in his dark eyes. Whatever connection he felt to him, it was strong. “That’s sweet that you do that for him,” she said.

He shrugged. “I dunno. The kid deserves it.”

“And you’re _ positive _ that you don’t have _ any _ romantic affections for this guy? Not even a smidge?”

Derek immediately frowned, snapping his gaze to Penelope, his brows furrowing. “No,” he said, “I… no. I _ don’t _ . I have _ no _romantic relationship with him, no.”

“I didn’t ask if you had a relationship, I asked if you had _ affections _.”

“Why are you so obsessed with this idea that I do?” He was flustered. He was so visibly flustered. And he still wasn’t answering the question. “You jealous or something, Babygirl?”

“Should I be?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not.” She shrugged cheerily. “It’s just from the way you talk about him, from your conviction to saving him, from that whipped look on your face… I’m just curious as to what it is about this man that makes _ you _ so willing to go to desperate measures to save him, that’s all. Generally, we pirates like to call that conviction _ love _.”

Derek just shook his head. “You pirates have your priorities crossed.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” She put one hand on her hip, turning to face him full on, tipping her head to one side. “Among pirates… a lot of the societal norms and expectations you’re used to are… more relaxed, shall we say. We’re all a bunch of criminals of various orders, on the run from the law in some shape or form. As such… we tend to reject many of the stuffy statutes that landlubber society works so tirelessly to uphold.”

“What do you mean?”

Penelope shrugged lightly. “All we pirates really want is freedom in life. To go where we want, do what we want… love who we want. No repercussions, no inhibitions. Just you and your whims. The society you come from likes to call that _ piracy _. We just call it freedom.”

Derek glanced out to sea again, a muscle in his jaw feathering, before he finally met her eyes again. Hesitantly. “What do you mean… you love who you want?” he asked quietly.

Penelope smiled. _ Caught him. _ “Well,” she said airily, waving a hand, “We tend to enjoy the _ other _ illegal p-word-activity of ‘prostitution’ rather frequently. That thing you call a reputation? Doesn’t apply to us. Physical loving is free and bountiful.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she smirked. “But in the realm of deeper love, a more meaningful devotion to another person… shocking as it may seem to you, there is a whole wealth of that among pirates as well. I’ve known plenty of pirates who fell in love and married.”

Derek nodded. “I suppose in a society based around ships and crews, finding a captain to officiate a marriage isn’t too much of a struggle.”

“You’re correct, sir. In fact, I’ve officiated a wedding or two, right on the deck of my ship.” She sighed. “It really is freeing, being able to fall in love among pirates. There’s no stuffy courting process, no laborious ceremony to adhere to. You just love who you want. No class restrictions, no race restrictions… and no gender restrictions, either.”

With that last bit, she sent Derek a glance. He was staring at her. A tiny crease was flickering between his brows. At length, his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Gender… restrictions?” he asked.

She smiled. “I told you. Societal norms are much more relaxed among pirates.”

He blinked, clearing his head. “So that’s why you’re so insistent on proving that I… that I love Reid. That’s just the society you’re used to.”

“Well, there’s that,” Penelope shrugged. “There’s also the fact that sometimes… you can just _ tell _ , you know? If you’re someone like, say, me, whose preferences for romantic partners are not at _ all _limited to strictly biological men… you can just tell when someone else’s preferences differ as well.”

Derek held her gaze for a long, drawn-out moment. He swallowed again. “And you think my… _ preferences _ aren’t limited to women?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me straight-up that you’re not in love with the governor’s nephew in the slightest.”

She could see his struggle. The words were on the tip of his tongue, she could feel it. 

But he didn’t say the words. 

_ As I suspected. The queer intuition rarely lies. _

He just shook his head. “Tell me about this first mate of yours,” he insisted. “Who is she, and how will she help us?”

_ Evasion _ , she crowed to herself, but she tamped down that confirmation. “Her name’s Jennifer Jareau,” she said with renewed vigor, accepting his nonverbal request to change the subject. “Everyone calls her JJ, though. Absolute angel. I’ve known her for _ years _. She used to live in Port Quantico, actually, and I think her family owned quite a bit of money. When she jumped ship to sail the seas and become a pirate, we ran into each other in the very town I’m taking you to and we hit it off right away.” She huffed a laugh to herself. “Better than okay, really.”

“Better than okay?”

Penelope flicked her eyebrows in a conspiratory fashion. “Remember how I said there are no gender restrictions among pirates in love?” she hinted.

Derek blinked. Penelope resisted the urge to cackle at the shock on his face.

“We’re not together anymore,” she went on, waving a hand. “We had our fun together for those first few years, but we both moved on. She had a brief fling with an ex-pirate Will Lamontagne, and I started to fancy another man in my crew, and we just… drifted apart. But we remained the best of friends, of course. I love her to death.”

“Huh,” he said.

Penelope shook her head, her mood sobering. “We had a plan,” she said. “In case anything should ever split the two of us up, in case something like Cat’s betrayal ever came up. We had a plan to meet up in Keg Town, the site of our first meeting, and wait for the other there.” She pressed her lips together. “And then Cat happened.”

“Did she turn JJ in to the authorities, too?” Derek asked.

“Oh, she tried,” she nodded. “She tried to time it so that the military would trap us both… but I think JJ managed to get away. I sat in my cell in the commodore’s ship for days before we finally set sail to Port Quantico. My only guess is that they spent that time scouring the island for my first mate but didn’t find her.” She sighed. “I can only hope she made it out alive and is waiting for me in Keg Town.”

“So she might not even be there.”

“She _ is _,” Penelope insisted. “She is there. Will runs a tavern in that town.” She nodded her head. “Trust me, Derek, she’s there.”

He made a noise of reluctant acquiescence but didn’t challenge her further. Penelope was thankful for that. She had everything planned out, but hearing someone else question it had started to give her some undue anxiety and she didn’t like that. 

“So, what will she do for us?” he finally asked at length.

Penelope shrugged, brushing off her nerves. “As the first mate of one of the biggest names in piracy, and as the co-owner of a tavern in the biggest pirate town in this archipelago, you can imagine all the connections she’s made over the years,” she explained. “Even I couldn’t tell you how far-reaching her influence is. She knows everyone, owes people favors - but more importantly, more people owe favors to _ her. _ She’s got friends and neighbors and acquaintances and allies everywhere she goes.” Penelope smiled proudly. “She can scrounge us up a proper crew in no time, gather intel on the _ Black Queen’ _s whereabouts from everyone she can find - and before you know it, we’ll be well on our way to hunting down Cat and taking back my ship. Along with your boy.”

Derek was nodding, clearly going over the plan in his head, prodding it for weaknesses. “You think that’ll be enough?” he asked.

“I’ve had over a week alone in a prison cell to think about it, I sure hope it is.”

“Okay.” He nodded still. More firmly. More decisively. “Sounds good, then.”

She offered him a smile. “Don’t you worry, Chocolate Thunder. Spencer Reid will be safe in your chiseled embrace in no time.”

He dropped his chin to hide his laugh. “I hope you’re right,” he said quietly.

“I’m always right.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” he smirked. 

Penelope couldn’t help it. She had to poke him a little more. _ It’s only to keep his morale up, of course. Not at all because I enjoy teasing him on his all-too-obvious affection that he refuses to acknowledge for real. _ “So,” she said, “If you’re _ not _ romantically involved with him, then what _ is _ your connection, exactly? Is it strictly professional, a noble to a commoner?”

He tipped his head back to laugh. “Still? You with the romance talk?”

“This is not romance talk! I’m just bored and looking for a topic of conversation, at this point.”

“_ Sure _ ,” he said. “And, for your information, Babygirl, our correspondences have been _ very _ professional. He requests a sword, I make it for him, I deliver it to the manor, I get paid. That’s all.”

“And that’s the only time you see him?”

“I mean, sometimes he’ll be in town or up at the fort and I’ll cross paths with him then, but… yes. That’s mostly it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And yet you still see him often enough to know the depths of his boundless memory and intellect? He must order a lot of swords from you, if you’ve had that many interactions. How many does a governor’s nephew need?”

“Just one,” he insisted. “He just… loses them. Often.”

“Aww, and you still make him a new one every time?”

“I do. It’s good money and I like the kid.”

_ Oh, I know. _ But something wasn’t adding up in his story. Penelope believed him, alright… but there was something fishy about the details. “I have one question,” she said.

“Within reason, but go for it.”

“Riddle me this, Weaponsmith,” she said slowly, tactfully keeping her gaze on the horizon. “You told me that your boy has an impeccable memory. Nigh-supernatural. Am I remembering that correctly?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, if his memory is really as good as you say… don’t you think it’s a little odd that he seems to keep forgetting _ where _he misplaced all those swords you make for him?”

Derek opened his mouth… but closed it. And didn’t say another word as he questioned it himself

_ Strategic misplacing of swords, adamant devotion to saving the other, those looks they shared that day on the docks when they both should have been focused on ogling at the prisoner before them - oh, there is some _ interesting _ drama stewing between these two… _

Penelope didn’t get much time to revel in the secrets she’d uncovered just then, because at that moment something black darted across the deck.

She immediately froze. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Derek asked, clearly having been snapped from his own spiral of questioning.

“Something just ran across the deck,” she said.

“Like what? A rat?”

“No, no, it was bigger than a rat. It was black but still kind of small. Derek, go investigate.”

“Why me?”

“Because you have washboard abs and biceps the size of my head and I trust that you’ll be able to take it on if it proves to be a threat, now _ go investigate _.”

He rolled his eyes with a smirk and descended the companionway while Penelope peered over the rail. “Where did it go?” he asked.

“Behind that crate by the mast,” she said, pointing.

He crept across the deck, his stance wide in the event of an attack. Gingerly, he peered around - and then suddenly brightened. “It’s a cat,” he called back.

Penelope’s mouth fell open. “A cat?” she exclaimed, immediately leaving the helm to scurry down the steps and see for herself. “Kitty?”

It was. Stretching himself out on the deck behind the crate, in the full light of the sun, was a black cat. His citrine eyes kept a close watch on Derek and Penelope, who crouched beside him, absolutely elated. “Oh, _ hello _ , precious! What are _ you _ doing on my ship?” she gushed, holding out her hand and rubbing her fingers together. The cat touched his cold little nose to her finger before laying his head back on the boards, entirely indifferent. 

“Where did he come from?” Derek asked.

“Oh, who cares? He must have stowed away somewhere. I love him and I will cherish him for the rest of time, this precious little spirit haunting this lovely ship… right, Derek?” 

There was no answer from the man standing beside her. She frowned up at him. “Derek? You’re not allergic, are you?”

He didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on something at the helm, his entire body stiff, his dark eyes wide but his eyebrows flat. He looked horrified. Rising, Penelope followed his gaze.

And was likewise horrified.

Frozen.

Because standing in the doorway of the captain’s quarters, which were situated in the aftercastle right under the helm where Penelope had been standing all night…

Was none other than _ Emily Prentiss _.

_ The Commodore of Port Quantico. _

_ Holy rutting shit… _

The three of them stared at each other for a very long time. None of them moving a muscle. Prentiss’s eyes flicked away only once to take in the scenery of their surroundings.

Open sea.

They were not in Port Quantico anymore.

Penelope still could not believe her eyes. Her brain could not process the fact that the _ commodore _ was on her ship. _ On her ship. _Standing right there in front of her. Black hair loose down to her collarbones. Loose white shirt, tight breeches, feet bare. The shadows of bandages around one bicep.

And from the looks of it, she’d just woken up.

From the captain’s quarters.

_ From right under Penelope’s feet. _

_ They had literally stolen a ship from the harbor with Commodore Prentiss still on board. _

“What is going on,” Prentiss said, her voice laced with equal parts threat, shock, and downright bewilderment.

Penelope recovered first, raising a shaking finger to point at her. “What… what are _ you _doing here?” she asked.

The commodore’s face scrunched into utter confusion as she glanced about the ship again. “This is _ my ship _ ,” she exclaimed. “I should be asking _ you _ that question, Garcia, what are _ you _ doing here? Where _ am _ I?” Her eyes cut to Derek, and that only seemed to confuse her more. “ _ Morgan? _”

“Commodore,” he said tightly.

“Did you…” She edged away from the door, suddenly breaking eye contact at last and striding to the rail of the ship to glance around it. There was no land to be seen. She snapped her head back to them. “Did you _ steal _this ship? With me on it?”

“First of all,” Penelope offered, still extremely spooked but trying not to look it, “We did not _ know _ you were on board, and we are deeply sorry for roping you in -”

“Where’s Walker?”

“Who?”

“_ Walker _,” she said. “The officer on duty on this ship last night.”

“Oh, that guy?” she said. “We, uh… we tied him up and left him on the dock.”

“_ This _ is why there were so many patrols at the wharf and not at the fort,” Derek muttered to her. “They were guarding _ her _ like usual.”

“Yes, I figured that _ out _ already, Derek, thank you,” she hissed back.

“How did you get out of your cell?” Prentiss snapped to Penelope. “Morgan, did… did you help her?”

“He might have,” Penelope said.

The commodore was rapidly recovering from her initial shock, and her expression was descending into rage. “Morgan, what in the everloving world…” she seethed. “_ Why? _ Was this supposed to be some trick to get back at me for turning you away at the meeting yesterday?”

“What? No!” he exclaimed. “I swear, that wasn’t my intent! I didn’t even know you were on here, I thought the _ Profiler _ was your ship!”

“The _ Profiler _ is the ship of the commodore of Port Quantico,” she explained. “ _ This _ ship, the _ Redwing _ , is my _ personal _ ship from my days as a captain. It was my mother’s before she gave it to me.”

“Ah. Of course.” Penelope muttered to Derek. “The _ other _ ship in the commodore’s possession, my mistake.”

“So, wait, wait,” Prentiss said, pressing her fingers to her temples and holding out one hand. “Morgan, you broke Garcia out of jail… and you just happened to pick_ this _ ship to make your escape?”

“Funny how the world works, isn’t it?” Penelope shrugged.

“And I have no backup to arrest you, do I,” the commodore seethed. “Poor Walker’s back in Port Quantico.”

“Yes,” said Derek.

She worked her jaw, glaring at them both. “I don’t suppose that a direct order from the commodore is going to get the two of you to turn this ship around, will it.”

“Most likely not.”

“But,” Derek said, stepping forward, “I… really don’t think turning this ship around is in your best interest, Prentiss.”

“And why not.”

The man shared a brief look with Penelope before he said, “Because we didn’t just pick this ship to escape Port Quantico after freeing Captain Garcia. We’re… we’re going to go after Cat Adams, too.”

Prentiss’s face went very still.

“I know Reid is your friend, too,” Derek continued. “We both want to save him. Garcia knows someone who can give us a solid heading on the _ Black Queen _ \- and she’s got a personal vendetta against the captain, too.”

“Are you asking me to just go along with this scheme?”

“Yes, are you?” Penelope frowned at him.

“I’m just saying,” he said, raising his hands, “Prentiss, you _ could _deploy a lifeboat and jump ship if you’re not interested in being a vigilante, but I have no idea where the closest landfall is, so you might be out on the water for a while. And, well… this is the best shot that any of us have of finding Reid and bringing him home.”

“You trust Garcia?” The commodore narrowed her eyes Penelope’s way.

“I do,” Derek said firmly. 

Prentiss glanced between them, working her jaw. Weighing her options. Comparing the consequences… and the rewards. After some time, she took a long breath and let it out through her nose. “You know I’m going to have to arrest both of you the minute we set foot back in Port Quantico.”

“I know.” Derek’s voice held nothing but firm conviction. “And that’s something I will gladly take if it means Reid comes back with us, too. _ Gladly _.”

A sadness flickered in the commodore’s eyes. Penelope noted it. _ She cares about Reid too. Deeply. _ At length, she closed them. “Fine,” she said. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“I mean, we’re not _ forcing _you to come along,” Penelope said, still a little wary of being on board a ship with the woman who’d arrested her in the first place. 

“But I am,” she insisted, shaking her head. “I can’t in my right mind abandon Reid like this. If your intel is accurate, Garcia, you’re our… you’re _ my _ best hope of seeing my friend again.” She sighed. “I will sail as a temporary vigilante if it means I have a shot.”

Penelope’s lips curved into a smirk. “Wow,” she said. “If I didn’t know any better, Commodore, I’d say you sounded like a pirate just now.”

She snorted. “Not a chance. This truce is only temporary. Once we beat Cat, I’m coming after _ you _.”

“Understood,” Penelope said, tactfully avoiding eye contact as Prentiss stalked past her. 

The woman halted by the crate where the black cat was sunning himself, gazed down at him, then picked him up - wincing at whatever injury she’d sustained on her one arm. She looked into the creature’s eyes. After a while she glanced back at the two pirates. “I see that you’ve met Sergio already,” she said.

“Is he yours?” Penelope asked.

Prentiss nodded. “He likes sailing. Getting wet, not so much.” The cat began to squirm, and she let him drop to the deck. He dashed back into the captain’s quarters with the rapid padding of his feet, his black tail high in the air.

Derek watched him go. “So… he was in there the whole time, then?”

“I was, too.”

“Right.”

“You must be a heavy sleeper, Commodore,” Penelope said. “I wasn’t making any attempts to be particularly quiet.”

But the woman just held up a hand in resigned defeat. “Don’t… worry about that title,” she sighed. “Not while I’m here. Just… Prentiss is fine. Or Emily. I don’t care.”

Penelope flicked her brows. “Okay… Emily.”

“And about the sleeping…” Prentiss - _ Emily _ \- said, shaking her head once with a small shrug, “A couple drinks’ll do that to anyone.”

_ Drinks, huh? _

_ Of course. Because she lost someone, too. She was the one who had to come home to the governor and tell him she allowed his nephew - and, from the looks of it, her very close friend - to get captured right out from under her nose. She must have felt awful. Must still feel awful. _

But now was not the time to dwell on that. If Emily wanted to help them, she needed to be focused on the tasks at hand.

The first of which… making port.

“Well,” Penelope said, “Much as I can appreciate a drink or two myself, I’d recommend going easy on the booze from now on. The place we’re heading… I would want my wits about me.”

Emily frowned. “And where exactly is it that we’re going on _ my _ ship, Captain Garcia?”

“Penelope is fine.”

“Garcia.”

_ Fair enough. If she wants to be like that. _ “We,” she said dramatically, “Are heading for probably your least favorite town in this entire archipelago, Emily Prentiss. A town so thick with illegal activity it would make your head spin.” She gave her a devilish smile. “A town entirely occupied by _ pirates _.”

Recognition settled over Emily’s features, and she set her chin. “Keg Town,” she said flatly.

Penelope just widened her grin in confirmation.


	6. Game On

Spencer was somewhat surprised at the relative cleanliness of the pirate’s brig.

Not that that made the chafing ropes on his wrists burn any less with every movement he made. Or made his throat less parched for water. Or made more bearable the humiliation of being thrown into a prison cell while an entire crew of pirates leered on.

Or assuaged his panic.

Because there was quite a bit of that about.

His elbows were braced on his knees as he sat on the only scrap of what could be considered furniture in his cell - a small two-person bench, crudely hewn and horribly uncomfortable. The floor beneath his shoes was gritty with salt and tarry grime. A single, swaying lantern was the only source of illumination in this part of the ship. There were no port windows.

But his own mind… that was the most terrifying thing in the brig.

An endless hurricane of what possible horrors his captors might unleash upon him. What they could possibly want from him - beyond ransom. How they could take it. Torture. Marooning. Assault.

But leaving him to sit alone in this cell, cut off from the passage of time, with nothing to occupy him but his own awful imagination… that felt like a pretty effective start, to him.

_ If only Morgan was here… If he was here… _

His head snapped up at the sound of a door to see a figure approaching him, backlit by the lantern light in the room beyond. Immediately, he shot to his feet and backed against the wall.

“If you want ransom, I’m no good to you harmed,” he exclaimed. His heart was racing in his chest. His thoughts went to the tiny knife he’d snatched from the _ Profiler _’s cargo hold, tucked under his shirt in his waistband - the pirates had stripped him of the sword Morgan had made him, but they’d missed that tiny blade.

Not like he was at _ all _ready to use it on another person at that moment.

The pirate stopped in the light of the lantern, and both men blinked at each other from opposite sides of the bars. Spencer didn’t recognize this man from the deck of the _ Profiler _ \- his dark hair curled over his forehead and about his ears, and small eyes framed by a pair of glasses. Unusual, for a pirate. 

The man raised his hands - he was holding a small waterskin in one of them. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said. His voice was reedy and somewhat high-pitched.

Spencer just eyed the waterskin but said nothing. Slowly, he relaxed his shoulders.

“I brought you this,” the pirate said, offering the waterskin. “I would have brought something to eat, too, but I don’t think I could have gotten it past the cook.”

“That’s okay. I’m not hungry,” he said softly, edging towards the man - and, more importantly, the waterskin. He reached for it, and the pirate gladly handed it over. “Thank you,” he said as he removed the cap - as best he could with his bound hands - and drank. 

The other man nodded. “I figured the captain hadn’t so much as poked her head in the door to check up on you all day.”

He forced himself to pull the waterskin from his lips after a while, wiping away the trail that had slipped down his chin in his haste with the back of his hand. He furrowed his brows. “So why did you?” he asked.

“Well… between you and me,” he said, leaning a little closer and lowering his voice, “I’m not exactly a fan of the way our new captain is running this ship.”

Spencer handed the pirate the waterskin back. “You were part of the original crew under Captain Garcia,” he said.

“Hye.”

“What’s your name?”

“Kevin,” he said. “Kevin Lynch.”

“I’m Spencer.”

“I know.”

_ Right. Of course he does. _ “Can… can you help me?” Spencer asked, his voice so hushed he himself could hardly hear it. “Can you help me get out of here?”

But Kevin’s pale face went paler and he shook his head of dark curls. “No,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I… I can’t.”

“Why?” he begged. “Please, you have to help me -”

“I’m so sorry, Spencer.” Kevin was backing up a few steps.

Desperate, he gripped the bars of the cell in his hands, his wrists straining from the rope tying them together. “You’d defy your captain to bring me water, you disapprove of her actions as your commander. How many others on this ship feel the same?”

“Not enough.” The pirate was still shaking his head, his eyes wide. “I know what you’re getting at, but I’m telling you, there aren’t enough of us left. Captain Adams replaced almost the entirety of Penelope’s original crew with mercenaries, outlaws… guys that are real bad news, even among pirates. They’re the worst of the worst. You’re not getting past them. I’m sorry, you’re just not.”

_ No. I can’t accept that. I can’t accept that I can just sit here and do nothing to get free… _Spencer’s knuckles turned white around the bars. “Please,” he breathed. “Kevin, there has to be a way, I have a knife -”

“There’s nothing I can do with that. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me about your captain, then,” he insisted, the words coming fast, desperate for any information he could glean from the kind pirate. “Tell me about Cat Adams. What kind of pirate am I dealing with here?”

Kevin glanced worriedly at the door of the brig before he finally took a step closer to speak. Spencer leaned as close as he could against the bars to hear his every word.

“She’s ruthless,” he muttered. “Only the strong survive around her. If you want to keep yourself alive, you can’t show _ any _weakness. Or fear. If she finds even a hint of either, your life on this ship is going to go from bad to worse faster than you can imagine.” He averted his eyes. “You know how you dealt with her on the deck of the commodore’s ship?”

_ So he must have been there after all. _“I was panicking,” he replied. “I was trying to keep her talking to find a way out -”

“No, I’m saying that’s exactly how you have to deal with her,” Kevin insisted. “Look… she’s not going to leave you alone down here forever. Sooner or later, she’ll get curious and come down to see if she can break you. Her prisoner.”

Spencer’s mouth felt dry, but it wasn’t from thirst. _ Oh, God… _

“But… just act like you did on the deck,” the pirate continued. “Whatever she does, don’t give in. Hold your ground. Push back, if you can.”

“Wouldn’t that make her angry, her prisoner talking back?”

“I don’t think so. She… she seems to like confrontations with people she deems her equal. A lot of her men talk back to her all the time, and she’ll snap at them, sure, but I think she likes the fight.”

“So my best bet for staying alive is to prove to her that I’m her equal,” he said.

Kevin shrugged tensely. “I don’t know. I… I really don’t. _ I’ve _ never tried it… but, then again she doesn’t see me as anything more than scum. She’d probably run me through the second _ I _ tried. But you… I don’t know. If you can hold your own like you did before… you might just live long enough to find an opening to get yourself out.”

_ Live long enough. _

Spencer swallowed the rising tide of dread in his chest and nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll try.”

_ To live long enough to see Morgan again. To get home to the library and the manor and the carriage yard. To live long enough to get out of here… somehow. _

Kevin offered him a tight smile. “I’ll check up on y-”

The brig door swung open with a bang and Kevin leaped back, the waterskin jarred from his hands. They both stared at the person in the doorway.

Female.

Spencer’s heart plummeted into his shoes - an awful, sick feeling. _ She’s here. Already. That’s her. _

_ Cat. _

The captain flicked a gaze at Kevin, eyeing him up as he seemed to forget how to breathe. After a tense heartbeat, she smiled coldly. “Cabin boy,” she said, “Leave us.”

Kevin swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Captain, I wasn’t… I was just -”

“Do you have _ ears _, cabin boy? I said beat it. I want to spend some quality time with our… esteemed guest.” That last bit she aimed at Spencer, along with her intense gaze. “Alone.”

_ Oh, God. So I’ll be tested a lot sooner than expected, then. _

_ Stay alive. Keep yourself alive. For Morgan. _

There were other people he knew he should keep himself alive for, he recalled distantly - Emily, for one, and his uncle. But in that moment, with his pulse roaring in his ears, with a vicious pirate captain staring him down like a predator with her meal, locked in a brig, God-knows-how many leagues from home… the only person he could conjure was Derek Morgan.

Kevin squeaked and slipped out of the room, avoiding touching the captain at all costs. The door swung shut behind him, he was so desperate to get out of there.

And then it was just Cat and Spencer.

Tension crept back up his shoulders the longer the pirate leveled him with that stare, but he forced himself to meet it, unflinching. At length, Cat slipped a hand under the lapels of her jacket and withdrew a key. Spencer’s heart thudded against his ribs like a bird in a cage as she unlocked the door to his cell. Removing the only barrier that was keeping him safe from her.

“If you want a decent ransom, hurting me really isn’t in your best interest,” he said, his back pressed against the wall.

Cat stepped into his cell, tucking the key back wherever she kept it. Her dark eyes didn’t leave him as she strode effortlessly into the cell, one slow step after another, airily surveying the space. “Ransom?” she asked innocently, noticing the bench and alighting on one end. She crossed one knee over the other and tipped her head up at Spencer.

He made no moves to join her, and kept himself as far away as he could, eyeing her for the slightest threatening move. “You said you wanted to ransom my uncle, the governor of Port Quantico?” he asked.

She let out a single laugh. “Oh, that. Don’t you worry, Spencie, I’ll get my money from him. Your dear uncle will fork over his life’s savings sooner or later,” she said - then her gaze took on a slight edge. “But there’s been a slight change of plans. I’m interested in something more than just a simple ransom out of you now.” 

_ I was right I was right I was right oh God oh no… _

She reached to her belt, and his stomach dropped with a painful thud when she removed one of her pistols, lazily angling it this way and that to study it before snapping her gaze back to him. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.

“It’s a pistol. .45 caliber, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Good job.” The pirate had the barrel aimed straight for him with a simple flick of the wrist, and Spencer’s heart nearly stopped - but she didn’t shoot. Her finger just rested lightly on the trigger. She jerked the firearm at the other end of the bench once. “Have a seat, Spencer.”

Even though every nerve in his body was screaming not to get any closer, to throw open the cell door and make a break for it, he knew she could put a bullet through his heart before he could make it a single step. It wasn’t worth that risk.

_ I need to calm down. Don’t show her any fear. Hold my ground. Push back if I can. _

_ And read her. Read her every move, just like Uncle instructed. Glean as much as you can from whatever she does, find out what it is she really wants from me… and then figure out the best course of action for getting out of here alive. _

There was already something clicking in the back of his mind, just looking at her, looking down the barrel of the .45 caliber pistol. _ First name Cat, last name Adams… Last name Adams… _

_ That record in Uncle’s office… I wonder if there’s a connection… _

_ I’ll start there. _

And so, prying himself off the wall and trying to relax his quailing heartbeat with a steadying breath, Spencer sat down on the bench beside his captor.

Cat smirked. “Evening,” she said. 

“Don’t waste my time,” he murmured, mentally tucking away that bit of information. _ So I’ve been down here all day _. “What do you want from me.”

“Slow down, tiger, I’ll get to that in due time.” She tipped her head to the side, that smirk still playing on her lips. Toying with him. He tried not to recoil. “Before I became the captain of the _ Black Queen _, I was known among pirates as Miss .45,” she said languidly. “I was a mercenary of sorts. An assassin. Either way, there has never been an enforcer of the law who’s crossed me and lived to tell the tale.”

_ An assassin of law enforcement… _ “So you’re going to kill me, then? Is that really what you have planned for your hostage?” Spencer said, keeping his voice low and even, faking arrogance. _ Hold your ground, push back if you can… _

“Of course not. What kind of a pirate do you think I am?” she scoffed - but she didn’t pull the trigger, or even cock the gun. Spencer noted that but kept it to himself as she continued. “No, what I want from you, Spencie, is _ information _.”

_ So this is an interrogation. _He tried not to think of the methods with which the pirate might resort to in order to get it. Playing it safe, he said simply, “I have nothing valuable to tell you.”

Her upper lip curled the tiniest bit, her smirk gone. “Don’t play dumb, Spencer, it doesn’t suit you at all,” she said tightly. “You’re a scholar, aren’t you. I can tell by your vocabulary.”

“I am.”

“Then you must have heard of this ship, _ and _ her former captain.”

“I have.” 

“Tell me what you know about them. All of it.”

“Why.”

She slid a little closer on the bench, and Spencer was immediately reminded of the tiny knife he still had on his person. _ Could I stand a chance of using it against her? Can I get to it…? _ “Because I want to know what the land people know,” Cat went on, oblivious to his thoughts. “I want to know what kind of infamy I’m starting out with here. What stories do you hear about the _ Black Queen _in Port Quantico?”

_ She has me at gunpoint, and all she wants from me is rumors? _ “Well,” he said, “The _ Black Queen _ is one of the most well-known pirate vessels, captained by the pirate Penelope Garcia until recently. Her crew was occasionally referred to by civilians as the Dirty Dozen - rumored to be twelve of the best pirates out there.” 

As he spoke, Cat slid a little closer still, so close they were almost touching, side by side. Spencer gripped the edge of the bench a little tighter but refused to move as he kept talking. _ Hold your ground, hold your ground… Don’t acknowledge her, don’t give her any attention… _

He didn’t stop rattling off every fact, every statistic, no matter how close the woman came. “The ship you now command in her place sports a dark red hull, nearly two dozen cannon…” _ She’s definitely touching me, now, that gun is hairsbreadths away from me, hold your ground, don’t acknowledge it… _“Three masts, three main sails each, a… a figurehead of a rearing unicorn under the bowsprit…” 

He stifled a jump as he felt Cat’s palm slide flat across his stomach over his shirt. “Tell me more about Garcia,” she murmured to him, never once taking the muzzle of the gun away from where it was trained up at his racing heart.

He swallowed as her hand kept moving. Slowly. Deliberately. “Lifelong sailor and well-respected amongst pirates, ex-captain of this ship…” It was getting harder to keep his focus as her hand slid lower across his abdomen… _ and lower… _ “Slated for execution by hanging in… in a week or so…” _ Where is that hand going where is that hand GOING - _ “Charged with thirteen accounts of piracy on the high _ seas _ -”

He sucked in a breath as Cat’s fingertips brushed the hilt of the knife in his waistband and had it her own hand in a second. “_ There’s _ your knife. Knew I spotted that earlier,” she murmured to herself, pocketing his only means of self-defense. To him, she sent a sensual smirk. “There’s a joke to be made there somewhere, but I’m not gonna say it right now. Did you _ seriously _ think you could slip that by me that easily?”

All teasing had vanished from her voice. The dangerous look in her eyes had him wishing for that knife afresh. “I forgot it was there,” he muttered.

“Don’t lie to me, Spencer, that makes twice now you’ve lied to me and I’m getting pretty pissed off about it.” The pistol pressed up at his diaphragm, cold through the fabric of his shirt, as she sneered.

He didn’t flinch. “What else do you want to know,” he asked. _ At least she took her hand away, now it’s just the gun I have to worry about… _

“I’ve heard enough about Garcia,” Cat scowled, pulling back just enough so that she wasn’t touching him anymore, and he breathed another internal sigh of relief. “You said she’s slated for hanging? Good for her. And better for me, means there’s one less rival on these waters.”

Spencer narrowed her eyes at her. “You’re ambitious,” he observed.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to be the best,” she shrugged

“There is when ‘being the best’ in this instance involves kidnapping, piracy, and murder.”

Cat huffed a laugh, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards. She pursed her lips as she studied his unflinching face for a moment. “I want to know about _ you _, next,” she decided after a time, prodding him with the gun in a way that could have passed as casual teasing had he not known there was a bullet inside with his name on it. “Tell me about Spencer Reid,” she smiled.

“What more could you possibly need to know about me? I’m the governor’s nephew and I’ll make you rich when my uncle pays the ransom,” he said, brows creasing down the middle.

She shrugged. “That’s true.”

“So what more do you want? I have no further value to you beyond being a bargaining chip in your possession.”

“That _ was _ true, once,” she drawled, sliding the cold muzzle across his shirt in a little pattern. Taunting. “I _ was _fully intending on keeping you as just that… but then you did something… interesting.”

“Which was?”

“You surprised me,” she said, frowning as she studied him closer. “On the deck. I expected tears and hopeless blubbering when I held my new sword to your neck and the commodore’s… but you didn’t give me any of that, did you.”

“I knew you’d probably kill me either way, so I might as well maintain my dignity.”

“Fat load of good that did you, you still ended up in my brig,” she taunted. She then narrowed her eyes and scowled at him. “I don’t like you, Spencer, let me just make that clear,” she said. “A pretty face doesn’t make up for being an arrogant prick. But then again, there are very few people in this world I truly do like - and you, at the very least, intrigue me. So give me more.”

_ What is she getting at here…? _“You already know I’m a liar, why trust me to change that now?” he frowned. “I could fabricate everything and you would have no way of verifying it.”

She flicked her eyebrows but only dug the gun into him a little harder. “I’ve had a _ very _long history of dealing with men and their lies,” she murmured slowly. “And I think you’re smart enough to figure out what happened to them all.”

He was.

Cat finally drew the gun away from his skin, satisfied by the look on his face that her threat had sufficiently sunk in. She leaned back against the wall - but still kept that muzzle pointed in his general direction, always there. “Let’s start with your parents,” she said amicably. “Where are they? Port Quantico?”

“The mainland,” he gritted out. _ Why does she care… why does she care… why does she care… _

“Then why aren’t you there with them?”

“I don’t see why this is relevant.”

She narrowed her eyes and ran the tip of her tongue across her teeth. “Interesting. Something happened to them.”

“Is this really how you want to waste your time with me?” Spencer asked tightly. “Commodore Emily Prentiss will be bearing the entire navy of Port Quantico down on your head.”

“Touchy subject, isn’t it.”

_ Don’t show fear, don’t give her a reaction… _“If I were you I’d quit asking after the fates of my parents and start asking for numbers to keep yourself and your crew alive.”

“Would you give me that information?” she asked, her brows lifting.

“No.”

Cat made a hum of amusement. “Then I think I’d rather follow this interesting train of conversation for now,” she decided. “Your parents suffered different fates, hm? But neither of them can be dead, since you said they’re on the mainland. I bet one of them’s out of the picture entirely… mother, or father?”

He felt his jaw clench tighter. “You’re wasting your time.” 

“Daddy issues it is, then,” she nodded. “I should have known. I know them when I see them. He’s gone, isn’t he - probably never stuck around long enough to even attempt at helping your mother raise you. And she gave you to dear rich Uncle Gideon when she couldn’t support two mouths to feed.” 

His temper suddenly reared deep in his chest at the condescending tone in the pirate’s voice as she droned on about his mother. _ She’s good… she’s too good… _

“Now you’re mad at me,” she said, a self-satisfied grin playing at her lips.

Spencer forced down every nasty remark he wanted so desperately to hurl her way and kept his face peacefully neutral. It was a Herculean feat. “Not even a little bit,” he said.

“Yes you are, I can tell.”

“No offense, but you’re not really worth getting angry at,” he murmured to her. A slight whitening of Cat’s knuckles around the pistol was the only reaction he got from her. _ She’s trying not to show me any reaction, either. _

_ But I think I see what’s going on here, now. _

“You want to know my history so badly?” he finally said to her - he even went so far as to lean a little closer, emboldened by his developing theory. Her gun lifted a fraction as a reflex, but otherwise Cat remained calm. “Fine,” he said. “You’re right about my father. He left when I was ten years old and I haven’t seen him since. My mother is still on the mainland, but the only reason I moved to Port Quantico was because she was admitted into an asylum there, _ not _ because she couldn’t raise me. My uncle and I care deeply for one another and I am best friends with the most powerful female military officer of my generation, and you’re a greater fool than I took you for, Cat Adams, if you don’t think that both of them are going to fight tooth and nail to see me again.”

The pirate took a moment to mull over his words, deciding how to proceed with this information, before she chose to send him a mockery of a knowing smile. “Now, was that really so hard?” she crooned. 

For the first time since he was taken on board, Spencer felt a smirk of his own flicker across his mouth. “I gave you what you wanted,” he said, “Now it’s _ my _turn to ask the questions.”

A glare snapped down over her features in an instant. “You don’t get to ask questions,” she growled.

“No, I think I do, actually,” he said, raising his brows, “My first one being if you really dislike me as much as you say you do, then why are you trying so hard to recruit me to your crew?”

There was silence between them for a few heartbeats. Cat’s face was a mask of stone.

_ And you thought you were the only one doing the profiling in this conversation. _

Eventually, her lips turned up into a cold sneer. “You think that the sight of your pretty face somehow softened my cold, cruel heart, and now I want to keep you around until you help me change my criminal ways?” She gritted her teeth and raised her pistol a little higher, a little more determinedly. “Do you really think I’m that simple?”

“Just the opposite,” he said, leaning closer to throw her off and keep her finger off the trigger for a few moments longer. “I think you’re wickedly smart. You calculate every possible outcome and are very careful to tailor your surroundings to favor the outcome you want. You’re a manipulator. You’re intuitive. And right now, you’ve caught yourself someone interesting and you want to see how far you can take it.”

Cat’s chest rose and fell as she sat very still, watching him. But she still made no moves to cock the gun.

He plowed ahead. “I believe you when you say that you don’t like me, and believe _ me _, Cat, the feeling is plenty mutual, but you do know how to recognize an intellectual equal when you see one, and I am that. You don’t like half your crew - no,” he corrected himself, tipping his head to the side, “You can barely stand a single one of them, can you. But you keep them around for one reason: the skills they can contribute to your ship.” 

Her chin tipped upwards a fraction. _ An affirmation. _

“That’s why you kept a few of the original Dirty Dozen on board even though you see them as little more than insects - they had skills you needed. You liked what they could do for you. As for me… it’s my education you’re after, isn’t it,” he smiled, close-lipped. “My connections. My knowledge about the inner workings of both the government and the military. That information, in your hands, could keep you one step ahead of the authorities forever, and solidify _ yourself _ as the infamous uncatchable pirate threat - effectively eclipsing Garcia and her record.” 

He leaned a fraction closer, and quashed the swell of euphoria as Cat was forced to recoil a tiny bit. “That’s why you want to know so much about my family. You want to know how many ties I have to my life on land, and how strong they are, because you want to know if I’m the kind of person who’d be willing to break every last one of them to join your crew.” He narrowed his eyes. “Am I wrong, Captain?”

Her lips pressed into a smirk, but there was no brazen arrogance behind it, now. He’d read her accurately after all, far more accurately than she’d thought, and she was _ not _ happy. “And here I was, thinking I had _ you _all figured out,” she smiled, diverting attention away from her distaste. “You were studying me, too.”

“I’m the nephew of a politician. The first thing I learned from him is how to read into a person’s words and behavior.”

She shrugged. “Not a bad skill for a pirate to have, either. That little trick’ll keep you alive. I gotta admit, Spencie, I’m impressed.”

“I’m not done yet. There’s one more thing,” he said, feeling confident. _ I knew I was right about that name, earlier. I knew there was a connection. She’s pissed, now… let’s see how pissed she gets when I spring _ this _ one on her. _

_ I only hope she doesn’t shoot me for it. _

No turning back now. Spencer dove right in. “Decades ago - almost twenty years, now, if memory serves - there was a sizeable scandal among the military elites in Port Quantico,” he said. “A man named Captain Daniel Adams was dishonorably discharged and banished after it was revealed that he’d killed his wife in cold blood. He had a daughter who disappeared at the same time, and was never accounted for.” He tipped his head to the side, offering her the barest hint of a smirk. “Her name was Catherine.”

There was no mask concealing her emotions, now. That was shock in her eyes. Outrage. _ And pain. There’s pain there, too. _

_ Bingo. _

As soon as she realized that her thoughts were evident on her face, she schooled her features back into coldness - but there was a big crack in her confidence, now. “How could you possibly know about that?” she muttered, barely audible. Spencer almost thought he saw her hand tremble. “You couldn’t have been more than four or five when it happened. You weren’t even there.”

“I made it a point to do my research when I came to live in that town. Military records proved to be especially interesting.”

“Good for you,” she gritted through her teeth.

He let himself relish the look on her face, just for a moment. It was the least the pirate deserved, after everything she’d done. _ This is for Emily. And my uncle. And Morgan. You may have taken away my weapon, but I can still hurt you. You opened this can on yourself. _

So Spencer didn’t pull any punches.

“You call yourself Miss .45 because it’s the same caliber pistol you have aimed at my spleen right now, but it’s also the same caliber bullet that your father put through your mother’s head.”

“Who’s Morgan.” 

He refused to rise to her bait, not now. Not even as the weaponsmith’s name on her lips made his heartbeat falter. “You said you know daddy issues when you see them - that’s because you know them first hand,” he insisted. “That’s why you became a pirate. You couldn’t reach the man who hurt you, but you could take out all of that rage on the people who reminded you of him most - anyone sailing under the naval banner.”

Cat finally cocked the gun with a ratcheting click, and Spencer shut up before he could get himself shot. 

_ There’s the limit of her patience. _

The pain was raw in the pirate’s eyes, and her white-knuckled hand was definitely trembling. “You had your fun, but you’re forgetting who’s holding the gun right now,” she sneered, pressing it into his side again. “You gave me that surname in the place of your own in a pointless attempt to save your skin. It must belong to a person, someone who means a lot to you, or their name wouldn’t have been the one that popped into your mind in a life-or-death situation. Who’s Morgan. Your lover? Someone you have waiting for you back home?”

The loaded pistol in his side and the unhinged look in her eyes was breaking down Spencer’s hard-fought confidence, letting fear back in. Not to mention, hearing Morgan referred to as a lover - _ his _ lover - was making his heart so somersaults. “He is not my lover,” he said carefully, willing that truth back into his mind to push out the _ other _ ideas that were breaking his focus, “But he is waiting for me.”

“So Morgan’s a man.”

Spencer clenched his jaw. _ I’m distracted. I’m distracted and she’s compromising the cracks in my armor… but at least I’m compromising hers in return. _“Brandish that gun all you want,” he said, flicking his gaze down at the pistol digging into his ribs, “But you’re not going to pull the trigger, Cat. I’m much more useful to you alive than dead. If you didn’t understand that, you would have shot me without hesitation the second I brought up Captain Daniel Adams.”

Cat snarled. “Keep saying that name and I will.”

“If I join your crew like you still so desperately want me to, you know you’re going to have to deal with that out of me - that and more. I’m not just going to let you off the hook that easily. You’re making my uncle worry and you threatened my friend. Don’t think I’m going to forgive you for that anytime soon.”

She drew herself in close - uncomfortably close - but this time, Spencer drew in to meet her. He could feel her breath across his face as she glared him dead in the eyes. “Let me make one thing _ abundantly _ clear, Spencer,” she murmured. “There is no _ if _ . There is only _ when _ . I _ will _ wring _ every last drop _ of valuable information out of your annoying little jabs and scathing comments, and when you’ve finally exhausted your usefulness, well… _ that _ ’s when the real fun will begin for me.” Her mouth curved up into a smile that almost felt a little manic. “Not even your best friend Emily _ nor _ your dear uncle with his vast coffers will be able to recover you then. Imagine their horror when they turn over my sum to me, only to find _ you… _unfit to return to them.”

“Not a very convincing argument if you want me to join your crew willingly and help you in the long run, because if you kill me, you’ll be losing the very same ally you’re trying to procure.”

“You say that like you think you have a choice in the matter. You and that big brain of yours are going to help me get away with murder.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes and said, very carefully, “Considering everything you’ve put Emily and so many other people through, you’re going to have to shoot me in the face before I let you get away with _ anything _.”

He and Cat glared each other down, hairsbreadths away, for a long, long moment. And then, the pistol in Spencer’s side pulled away at last. Cat let a short breath out of her nose and pinned him with one last smirk.

“Game on,” she said with a flick of the eyebrows.

Then the pistol was disarmed and holstered, and the pirate captain rose and swept out of the cell, locking the door behind her.

And once she was truly gone, Spencer let out the breath he had been holding that entire time and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, letting his heart pound and pound until he could relax again.

* * *

Kevin poked his head in the brig a few hours after Spencer’s showdown with Cat, bearing some bread and dried meat and more water. While Spencer ate, the pirate explained how he’d never seen the captain as unsettled as she’d been after coming out of the brig, and he was afraid she’d killed him. 

“You really got under her skin, huh,” he’d marveled.

Spencer shook his head, his meal turning to lead in his stomach as he recalled the things they’d spoken about. “She’s good at what she does,” was all he said. “I just followed your advice. Pushed back.”

“From the look of it,” Kevin said, glancing at the door, “You’re pretty good at what you do, too.”

Sleep came fitfully that night alone in the cell. The low wash of night waves against the hull was soothing enough, but Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling of that pistol’s muzzle in his ribs. He’d been riding such a high of adrenaline during their verbal duel that he hadn’t even had time to fully comprehend how close she’d really been to ending his life right then and there. Had he been more aware of the danger at the time, he wouldn’t have dared to push her _ nearly _ as far as he had. He really should be dead, for some of those angles he pulled. 

But Cat must have really been desperate for having an informant with a memory as extensive as his on her crew, because here he was. Alive.

For one more day, at least.

As for how long he could keep it up… Spencer had no idea. He was Scheherezade, desperately spinning his words to survive - but Cat would never let up, not now that he’d proven himself a competent opponent. Each night he lived to see could still very well be his last. He understood acutely the peril of the protagonist of _ Arabian Nights _ now more than ever.

He needed a way off the _ Black Queen _. Soon.

Spencer didn’t know at what point he fell asleep amid his worryings, but he _ could _pinpoint the exact moment he was jarred awake the following morning - the boot clanging mercilessly against the iron bars of his cell. He scrambled to his knees, furiously blinking sleep out of his eyes, reaching for his waistband for the knife that was no longer there.

Cat loomed over him, looking down her nose. “Wakey wakey,” she said, her face breaking into an amused smirk. She waved the key to his cell in the air. “Big day for you, Spencie.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this is not going to end well,” he scowled.

She shrugged coyly - all of the agitation from last night’s combat was gone from her demeanor. A carefully rebuilt facade. “That depends on you,” she said. “If you behave yourself, make yourself a good little hostage on my ship, then you should be fine. Try anything funny, and I mean _ anything _… and it won’t.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes at that taunting key. “You mean anything you _ catch _me trying,” he said.

The key stopped waving as Cat gripped it tight in her fist. She knelt down on the balls of her feet to sneer at him, elbows on her thighs. “Let me clarify. I mean anything you even _ think _ about trying,” she assured him. “You think you’re so clever you can sneak something past me right under my nose? You’re forgetting who you’re dealing with.”

“And you, the same.”

She studied him for a bit longer before, to Spencer’s surprise… she smirked. Rising, she unlocked his cell door and let it swing open with the rock of the ship. His eyes widened as he, too, rose to standing, not quite believing what he was seeing.

_ She’s… letting me out? _

_ She’s not serious. I’m free to roam the ship? Observe her crew? Memorize their patterns, listen to their conversations, gather information that can get me away, get me free - _

“Before you get too excited there, Spencer, let me remind you who owns this ship,” Cat snapped, pocketing the key again. “You’ll be sleeping with the crew from now on, seeing as you’ll be one of them sooner or later. Make the most of your time here and make some friends.”

“Never been particularly good at that,” he said.

“You could try that little trick you used on me - you know, the one where you dug up my childhood trauma and used it like a knife against me?” Her sudden frown was sharp - and raw. _ Not so carefully rebuilt, after all. _ “I’m sure that’ll get you _ plenty _of attention with this crowd.”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged. “But I do mean it, Spencer. I’m letting you out right now as an act of _ charity _. An olive branch after our… encounter last night, seeing as, in the end, I do need you to stick around for a while.” Her smile was saccharine. “Don’t make me regret it. My generosity is a rare and fragile gift. You’re not going to like what will come in its place if you spurn it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing,” he said plainly.

“Good. Because every last man in this crew answers to me if they witness something even slightly unusual. So don’t think for a second that just because I may be looking the other way, I don’t know what’s going on on my own ship.”

She turned on her heel. Spencer was suddenly struck with a new concern, watching her back as she strode to the door of the brig. _ Dealing with Cat is one thing… but she’s right. I might be free to roam, but her crew… _

Memories of leering faces and bloodthirsty grins crowded his mind’s eye. _ I don’t know if I can handle her crew. _

“This is generosity from you,” he called after the captain, “But what about your men?”

She turned. “What about them?”

“Will they regard me with the same hospitality?”

Cat laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry too much about that, Spencie. Like I said - behave yourself, and things will end up just fine for you. And even then… the men under my employment might be a pack of snarling ingrates,” she said with a satisfied air, “But they know better than to touch what’s mine.”

_ Oh._

* * *

The days on the seas blended together. Days and nights of salt and sea and sun on the wide-open sea, skirting the dark smudges that were islands and other ships on the horizon.

Free of the brig at last, Spencer found himself a hammock in the back corner of the hold where the crew slept and kept himself as far from the other men as possible - even with Cat’s reassurance, he wasn’t about to risk drawing unwanted attention to himself in that crowd. When he couldn’t avoid social interaction entirely, he sought out Kevin and the scant few of Garcia’s original crew left and stuck with them. They, at least, offered him a sympathetic smile from time to time. 

A few days after his capture, Spencer realized the _ Profiler _was probably reaching Port Quantico, even with the damage to her mast. Emily would be making the trek up the hill to the governor’s manor to break the news to Governor Gideon. She’d scramble her officers and launch herself right into a counterstrike plan.

_ Morgan has probably heard what happened to me by now _.

It was almost funny, really. Spencer had been so worried about Morgan’s reaction, back when he thought the only news the _ Profiler _would be returning with was the news of his engagement. He could only imagine what must have been whirling through the weaponsmith’s head now. Spencer knew if he was in Morgan’s shoes, he’d be out of his mind with worry.

_ But just because he holds your heart doesn’t mean that you hold his _, he reminded himself quietly.

His subconscious mind seemed to be taking longer to accept that small detail, which came to his attention as his capture on the ship dragged on. Even though he was far, far from home, the thoughts he’d always grappled with back in Port Quantico had followed him to sea.

Including his dreams.

Sleep didn’t come easily to Spencer, surrounded by pirates in the hammocks, but when it did one night, it brought with it a particularly vivid one.

Spencer dreamed that he was still in the brig, locked in the cell with his hands unbound instead of curled up in a hammock. It all felt as though it was real - the grime under his shoes, the wood grains on the wall, the cold iron bars. He rose and gripped the bars - they felt solid enough. He was trapped.

_ I need to get out. _

He yanked at them, but his muscles felt too weak to possibly do any damage.

_ I need to get out. Someone needs to get me out… before Cat comes back. She’s coming back. I need to get out of here, please… _

The door of the brig suddenly swung open, snapping him out of it, but it wasn’t Cat.

It was _ Morgan. _

“Morgan,” Spencer breathed, relief sweeping through him so hard he thought he might just pass out. Absolute relief. _ He’s here. He came. He came for me. He’s going to get me out of here… _

“Reid,” Morgan said, coming up to the other side of the bars. It was really him. His deep voice was soft, almost weak from the raw emotion plain on his face. In the worried slant of his dark brows. The parting of his lips. “Reid, are you okay?” he asked. “Did they hurt you?”

Maybe they did. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. It was over. Spencer would never have to see any of those pirates ever again. He shook his head, still too overcome with relief to properly speak.

_ I love you _ . _ Take me home. Take me with you… _

Morgan placed his hands on the bars overtop where Spencer held onto them. His fingertips brushed over his own until suddenly their fingers interlocked through the bars, and they were holding hands. Spencer’s eyes shot up to meet Morgan’s.

The weaponsmith was smiling his stunning, beautiful smile. “It’s gonna be okay, Pretty Boy,” he said. “I’m here. I’m here, now.”

Spencer leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against the flat, cool metal of the bars, and he loosed a shaky exhale. He could feel himself trembling from the relief. “Thank you,” he whispered. Fingers interlaced through the bars with the other man’s.

“Didn’t think I’d just leave you in here, did you?” he murmured to him.

The edges of Spencer’s mouth curved upwards in a smile. “I knew you’d come for me,” he whispered.

“And I always will.”

And then, still holding each other’s hands through the latticed bars, Morgan leaned forward, and his lips met Spencer’s through the open space.

Spencer’s heart leaped inside him and he furrowed his brows to kiss him more thoroughly, as best as he could despite his confinement. Morgan responded in earnest, pressing his own forehead flat against the warm metal, his body flush to the bars keeping them apart. Spencer clutched his fingers tighter and brought his own body against it, too. Anything to feel more of him. 

The kiss grew more insistent, like they were lovers reunited after a long time apart and just couldn’t get enough of each other. Spencer was pretty sure his mouth was open on Morgan’s as he kissed him. Open, closed, then again, harder, more.

Hands came up to slide along his jaw until they dug into his hair. The bars weren’t separating them anymore, they were against each other with nothing but their clothes between them. Spencer’s own hands found Morgan’s hips and pulled him even firmer against him, splaying his palms across his lower back.

“Reid,” Morgan breathed against his mouth, and Spencer kissed him again.

There was a wall behind him now. He didn’t remember moving back against it, but he was too focused on Morgan to care. Too focused on the sensation shooting down his spine, flaring to life low, between his legs where the weaponsmith’s hips were driving. He felt the firm musculature of Morgan’s abdomen, chest, bare now, his was bare too, hot where skin pressed against skin, and he kissed him -

And was jarred awake with a jerking sensation as though he was falling.

Spencer sat up in his hammock in the dark, his heart racing, eyes wide, frantically trying to adjust to the sudden darkness. His breathing was coming quicker, too. 

_ It… it was just a dream. _

He swallowed as cold reality started to settle down on him, at odds with the heat that was still lingering in his body as though everything that he’d dreamed had really just happened. He was as hard as if it had.

_ It was just a dream. _

_ He didn’t come for me. He’s not really here. He never was. _

_ And he never will be. He doesn’t know where you are, no one does. You’re on this ship and he’s not coming to save you and he’s certainly not going to kiss you like that if you see him again. _

_ If. _

It had felt so real, though, so _ jarringly _ real that the realization that he’d dreamed it all was like a punch to the gut. The relief had been so real, and that was probably the worst part of it all. Relief at the prospect of being saved, of finally getting free. 

Alone, surrounded by pirates asleep in their hammocks, somewhere out on the open seas, cold reality crushing him once more, Spencer could have almost started crying. 

_ He’s not coming for you. _

He squeezed his eyes shut and balled his hands into a fist in his blanket. He could almost still feel the heat of Morgan’s skin as if he had really been there. 

Spencer had had dreams like that before. But none had ever left him feeling so incomplete, so shaken, and so very, very alone.

* * *

Spencer tried to forget about it the next morning, but he found it was still just as hard to avoid thinking about Morgan. Or Emily, for that matter, probably worried about him in a purely platonic sense and almost certainly blaming herself for letting Cat get away. Or his uncle, of course, receiving the news of his capture but nothing more.

Thinking about the stress and worry his friends were probably going through back in Port Quantico only ever made him feel worse. 

So, in the days that followed, he threw himself into keeping as busy as he could to keep those thoughts at bay. 

And as he did so, as he forced himself to strive for a purpose, any purpose… his brain began doing what it did best, bit by bit in the back of his mind.

Forming a plan.

He stuck with Kevin and helped him out with the rigging when needed. He poked around the ship as often as he dared, memorizing the layout and cargo - he was never too far from one of Cat’s men at any given time, so he knew his every move was probably being relayed to the captain. He didn’t risk lingering in one place for too long.

But his efforts weren’t all for naught, he did glean some information. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, he filed it away. The state of the cannons (somewhat battle-worn, but otherwise fine), how many times the hull had been patched up (thirty-seven spots where the boards were new), where the ammunition was kept (the cargo hold) and how much of it they had (quite a bit, most likely). 

One of the hulking gunmen had eyed him a little too closely for comfort while he was poking around where the explosives were kept, so he figured that attention was indicative of a large enough storage to satisfy him. He didn’t wander over there again.

But despite all the valuable specs he gathered for himself, he still knew that all the information in the world was effectively useless to him - and to Emily and the forces under her command - if he couldn’t find a way off the ship.

Which he still had yet to do.

He was getting desperate. The anxiety of that desperation compounded with his constant need for subtlety had his nerves fried. 

And to make matters worse, he still had to deal with Cat. He didn’t see her quite as much as he’d expected to, but they still exchanged glares and snappish comments every time they crossed paths. Once or twice they found themselves relatively isolated, which ended in lengthier arguments. Testing and prodding each other. Feeling for weaknesses. Wearing each other down.

But neither one of them were willing to back down just yet.

It had been nearly five days sailing nonstop across the sea before the first mate came to Spencer in the galley towards the end of dinner one night. His name was Wilkins, and he was a mountain of a man, all muscle and dark skin. Spencer swallowed his mouthful of bread and held his breath as he approached him with one of his long pistols displayed on his belt.

“Captain wants to see you in her quarters,” he said.

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m… helping secure the rigging tonight.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Kevin sent him a glance but ducked his head back to his bowl of thin stew. Food supplies were starting to run low on the ship. Backed into a corner with no good way out of it, Spencer rose from the galley table slowly and frowned Wilkins’ way. “Why does she want to see me?” he asked.

The first mate only flicked his eyebrows. “She didn’t say,” he grunted. “You’re a pretty boy. Figure it out yourself.”

His insides turned to ice.

_ She’s not… _

“Hurry up. She told me I can shoot you a little if you didn’t get a move on.” Wilkins raised the gun in his hand. 

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He ducked his shoulders around some of the low-hanging beams in the hold before reaching the steps and taking them two at a time. 

He noted another of Cat’s crew glaring daggers his way as he did so - the second mate, Lindsey Vaughan. One of the only other female pirates on the ship, she was a slight, dark haired woman who often manned the crow’s nest during the day.

And she was also Cat’s lover. 

That interesting bit of information had come as somewhat of a shock to Spencer when he’d first heard it from Kevin… but he wasn’t entirely surprised. Pirates had their own society, separate from the rigidness of the one he’d come from. Given the statistical frequency of non-heterosexuality in humans, it seemed only natural that a society based around following one’s whims would be so openly accepting of two women as a couple.

_ If Port Quantico was like that, maybe I could… _

_ Except Port Quantico _ isn’t _ like that. And you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your mind go there anymore. All this time spent around pirates is getting you thinking about things you can’t have. _

_ People you can’t have. _

_ The one person you can’t have. _

He blinked and hurried along, out of Lindsey’s murderous sights. _ She looks like she’s ready to slit my throat. _

_ If Cat’s own lover is looking at me with that much downright envy right now… _

Fresh air hit him like a sack of stones as he finally broke onto the deck of the ship. He slowed, taking it deep into his lungs as if that could assuage the mounting horror filling his body.

The door to the captain’s quarters in the aftercastle was closed.

_ Don’t panic. Don’t show her fear, remember? Wilkins didn’t know what exactly Cat has planned for me, he might be mistaken… _

_ He better be mistaken… _

Except Spencer figured that any pirate Cat Adams trusted to be her first mate probably knew her well. They had to be familiar with one another. 

_ And one another’s tendencies when it comes to interrogation. _

_ And… partners. Which, for Cat, means men. At the moment, at least. She must enjoy the company of both… _

_ Please tell me she isn’t going to expect me to do what I think she is, please please tell me that this isn’t her new way she’s going to try to get me to break… _

_ Don’t think about it. If it is… don’t show fear, don’t show a reaction. Push back. Push back. Push back… _

Each step across the decks sent dread coursing through his veins, but he forced himself to take it. Hand on the doorknob. Turn. Open.

The sunset behind him reminded him of blood.

Cat was at her desk, poring over a list. The rest of the captain’s quarters were dominated by her bed, which was strewn across with haphazard sheets and a map or two. He forced himself to keep his eyes off the mattress as Cat flicked her eyes his way. “That was fast,” she said, rising from her chair.

He crossed his arms over his chest. _ Push back _. “Your second mate seems agitated by the fact that you’re calling me to your bedroom to late at night,” he said.

“Does she, now?” Cat’s lips curved upwards.

“Do whatever you want to do to me, but you ought to make it quick so you can get back to your lover belowdecks and reassure her of your loyalty.”

The captain threw her head back and actually laughed. “Is that what Wilkins said I wanted you for?” she crowed.

Spencer’s gut twisted. “He… didn’t specify.”

“_ Please _ ,” Cat sighed, “Lindsey should know that I’ve got her and her alone for that. And really, if I wanted a man’s company, the _ last _ man on this ship I would seek out is _ your _ sorry ass. Look at yourself. Five days on a pirate ship, and you look like trash.”

He clenched his jaw. He knew that his long hair, restrained only by its now-ragged ribbon, was a tangled mess beyond repair. He also hadn’t had access to a razor - or any sharp-bladed tool, for that matter - since his capture, so his face was getting scruffy with stubble. And that was saying nothing about the state of his clothes. _ Of course she isn’t above petty insults. Typical Cat. _

“Well,” he said, scrambling to recover his dignity, “Everyone belowdecks seems to think I’m up here to be your new companion for the night.”

“Amusing as the notion may be, I’m gonna have to give a _ hard _pass on that one.”

Spencer chose not to be insulted by that. Mostly, part of him was just relieved. “So why am I here, then?” he asked. “Did… did news of my ransom come through?”

“Seeing as we’d have to make port for that to happen, genius, I’d say it has not.” Cat shrugged and stretched her arms above her head. “But it’s in the plans. I’m sure you’ve noticed the food on this ship is running low, as well.”

“I have.”

“We’re a day out from a good port where we’re going to restock all of that - and hopefully pick up some news from your dear, rich uncle. If _ this _ town hasn’t heard anything through the grapevine, none of them have.” She cocked her head to the side. Always studying him. “How much do you know about the settlement of Keg Town?”

_ She’s going to Keg Town? _ Spencer quashed the sudden fear that rose in him. _ Of course she’s going to Keg Town. She’s a pirate, she’s in no danger. Me, on the other hand… _

“It’s a pirate town,” he said flatly. “Roughly two days east of Port Quantico, the only settlement on its island, established around the same time as Port Quantico, actually -”

Cat made an exaggerated yawn, and Spencer clenched his jaw hard with a glare. “Sorry I asked,” she said. “Anyway, your first thing was right on the nose. Pirate town. One of my favorite places in the world, actually.” She grinned. “I’m sure you’ve heard the legends of the adventures one can embark on without ever leaving the city limits?”

_ If by ‘adventures’ you mean prostitution, murder, vandalism, burglary, destruction of property, assault, counterfeiting, double-crossing, and more… _“I have,” was all he said.

“Good. It really isn’t a port for a fragile little land creature such as yourself.” 

_ True, _ he thought bitterly, _ but it’s still a port. And a port means land where I can jump to, streets I can hide in… a port means a way to get away from you… _

_ And I will brave every last one of those fates if it means I don’t ever have to set foot on this ship of yours again. _

She snatched up the parchment she’d been reading and rolled it up into a tight scroll. “Needless to say,” she said, “You’ll be spending our entire time at port in the brig.”

Spencer’s heart suddenly plummeted - along with his rapidly-forming plan. “What?” he squeaked.

“It’s to keep you _ safe _, Spencer,” she smiled.

“No, it’s to keep me from running _ off _,” he gritted out.

“Is that how you see it? I thought we already _ discussed _ the conditions of my generous hospitality - and what _ will _ happen if you violate them.” Her expression darkened into a glare. “Don’t tell me you’re still on about that.”

He pressed his lips together in a thin, white line but said nothing. _ She knows I’ve been poking around. She knows I haven’t stopped trying to find a way out of this. Her hospitality spiel is one big act - but it’s an act that’s backed up by real consequences. _

_ This is a warning. _

“Is that all you wanted, then?” he muttered. “To tell me you’re locking me up when we make port?”

“Just about, yep.” She was smiling as cheerily as he’d ever seen her. _ Oh, she’s terribly pleased with herself for this one. _“Now get your crusty self out of my quarters. I have work to do.”

He stood there seething for a few more moments as the captain began organizing the papers on her desk, debating whether or not he could manage to win in a fight against her. But in the end, he just gripped the doorknob and wrenched it open to stalk away.

“Oh, and Spencer?” Cat called, “Send Lindsey up next, would you? I think I need to… _ apologize _ to her.”

He just let the cabin door slam behind him.

_ Like hell I’ll send Lindsey up next _ , he thought bitterly as he descended quickly back belowdecks. _ I’m not your messenger boy. _

The second mate in question was still scowling at her table among the rest of the crew, but she’d procured a bottle of rum in the short time he’d been gone and was taking angry swigs from it. Spencer ignored her entirely. If Cat wanted to _ apologize _badly enough, she’d snag Lindsey herself. 

No. He skirted the yellow lamplight of the central area of the hold and found the real person he was after in the half-darkened corner of the room.

Cat should have known better than to think that his first Keg Town plan was the only one she’d need to worry about crushing.

_ Keg Town… where a single gunshot can have every single citizen at each other’s throats for no reason other than the thrill of the fight. _

“Kevin,” he muttered urgently. 

The bespectacled pirate blinked upon seeing him back so soon. “That was… quick. What… was all that about?” he asked.

Spencer would explain later. For now, there was only one thing on his mind. He flicked his gaze to the rest of the crew and said, “You’re going ashore when we hit land, right?”

“Yeah, but I… I’m thinking of jumping ship. I don’t know if I can stand Cat for much longer.”

Fine. Better to him. If all went well, that wouldn’t matter to Spencer. He just said simply, “I need you to do me a favor before you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 11 episode 11 (Entropy), anyone?
> 
> I try to sneak as many iconic scenes and interactions from canon into this fic, obviously this chapter was heavily inspired by one of my personal favorite episodes of the series :) What is Reid planning? We'll have to see...


	7. Keg Town

Keg Town.

Emily had always imagined that she would be backed by an entire fleet of the navy’s best ships and soldiers when she finally set foot in that lawless settlement for the first time, ready to sack the whole place and bring each and every pirate in there to justice.

She never could have imagined that she’d be sailing into the infamous pirate city in the company of another pirate.

Or, rather, as that same pirate seemed to think, under the _ command _ of one.

Emily wasn’t sure what to make of Garcia. When she’d captured her, the woman had been in shock and hadn’t done much in the way of talking. Emily had only interacted with her one other time - when she’d hauled her in to Port Quantico. Garcia had given her some attitude then, but she hadn’t thought much of it. 

She wanted to hate her. Garcia had escaped from prison and stolen a ship - _ her _ ship. And though the pirate hadn’t explicitly _ said _ she’d assumed command of the _ Redwing _, being the one who commandeered it right under Emily’s nose… Emily had still found herself jockeying for position at the helm once or twice. 

Competing for command of her own personal ship. The very notion was almost offensive.

But then… there had been the passion and love in the way Garcia had spoken about her real ship, the _ Black Queen _. Her true, honest, bubbling laughter when she teased Morgan. And the way she cooed and gushed over Sergio whenever he wandered near her. Those actions didn’t fit the common stereotype of a pirate in the slightest.

Honestly, if Emily had only known Penelope Garcia from the two days she spent sailing the _ Redwing _ to Keg Town, she probably would have taken an instant liking to her. Might have even sought to be her friend.

_ But she’s a pirate, and she stole your ship. _

The light pattering of feet up the companionway snapped Emily out of her sulking. She looked down at the citrine eyes of the black cat at her feet and cracked a smile.

“What would you do in my place, huh?” she sighed down at him. “Following a pirate into the heart of pirate territory?”

Sergio blinked, then sat himself down in the shade of the red-painted rail and began licking a paw, entirely indifferent as usual.

She huffed a laugh to herself. “Of course _ you _wouldn’t care,” she muttered. 

_ And, at the moment… this is still my best option for saving Spencer. _

“Land-ho!”

Voices from down on the deck. Garcia was snatching a spyglass out of Morgan’s hands. “Oh, that’s it, alright. Good eye there, Second Mate,” she said, looking out over the sea herself. The pirate retracted the glass and turned to beam up at Emily and wave her over. “Emily!”

She was already descending the steps. “Is that it?” she asked. “Already?”

“Already,” Garcia sighed. “God, do I love this place. Are you excited?” she asked, elbowing Morgan playfully.

The weaponsmith shared a glance with Emily. “Excited to get jumped, you mean?” Emily piped up in his place, shaking her head. “Of all the places you could have asked this JJ to meet you, did it have to be _ this _ one?”

“Of course, we couldn’t risk the authorities finding her before I did. Keg Town’s the last place any officer in their right mind would want to go.”

“You got that right,” Emily muttered.

Garcia tipped her head to the side. “It’s not as bad as they say,” she said. “Really. I mean, _ yes _ , most of those stories you hear of arson and firefights and brawls-gone-wrong are mostly true, but nobody ever spreads stories about the _ good _ parts.”

Emily and Morgan shared another glance but said nothing. She wasn’t sure she’d trust that her idea of _ good parts _ looked the same as Garcia’s.

“Don’t be like that. You two have got nothing to worry about - we took down your official commodore’s colors, no one in the cannon towers is gonna be gunning for us when we sail into the bay. You just stick close to me and I’ll take you to JJ.” She paused, suddenly taking a closer look at Emily’s outfit. She winced a little. “Actually,” she amended, “Emily, you might want to find a different jacket.”

She glanced down at the one she had on - red and richly embroidered. “Why, think someone’s gonna steal it off me?” she asked.

“No, I think someone’s gonna shoot you in the back before they steal it off you,” she said, somewhat apologetically. “Do you know why it’s called Keg Town?”

Emily shook her head.

“A couple reasons. The first being, the reference to a keg of ale. There’s plenty of _ that _ to go around, trust me - and rum and spirits and the occasional case or two of wine.”

“Lawfully procured, of course.”

“Oh, yes, _ quite _ lawfully,” she grinned. “But the second reason we like to call it Keg Town is a reference to a different kind of keg. _ Powder _keg, to be precise.”

“For the fights that break out?” Morgan asked.

Garcia quirked her lips to the side and gave a small nod. “Everyone in this town is always looking for a fight - fists, swords, guns, you name it. It’s like a powder keg in that the place is _ always _ ready to blow. At any given moment.” She angled her head at Emily’s coat again. “Sharp as that looks on you, Emily… the military doesn’t have a great rapport here. You’ll draw too much attention. And I won’t be able to stop an entire settlement of pirates from taking out their anger on the nearest officer.”

Emily flicked her eyebrows but resigned to shrugging off the justaucorps - she resisted the urge to hiss as the gunshot wound in her arm barked with pain from the effort. “I’m touched you’d even _ consider _stopping them,” she muttered, “Seeing as you don’t have that great of a history with law enforcement, either.”

“I stole your ship with you still on board,” Garcia told her. “It’s the least I can do.”

Emily folded the coat in her arms and frowned her way as she looked out across the sea to the dark island on the horizon.

_ I really don’t know what to make of this woman._

* * *

The infamous pirate town looked exactly as Emily expected.

Ships of every size, color, and state of disrepair crowded the dark wood of the piers, reaching out into the water like claws. There were merchant vessels, explorer’s vessels, vessels that seemed entirely custom-made - she even spotted a couple that seemed to be commandeered naval ships, draped in pirate regalia instead of the official colors. Some of them bore fresh cannon holes and severed masts, some of them looked to be in pristine condition, but all of them were unquestionably pirate ships.

The ropes that tied the _ Redwing _into their slip in the corner of the pier were tarry and salt-crusted, but strong nonetheless. Garcia finished directing Morgan on how to tie a proper knot, then strode down the gangplank and looked back up at them with her hands on her hips, satisfied.

Emily and Morgan saw very little reason to take their chances alone on the ship, so they followed closely after her.

Keg Town was a tangled snare of haphazard buildings, overhanging second stories, steeply-angled roofs and lantern lit shop fronts. The roads wound about the buildings with no coherent direction or planning whatsoever. There were barrels and wagons scattered between the houses and around the occasional fountains.

There were people everywhere - the midday sun glared down, but there were still plenty of drunks in the streets this early, roaring with laughter amongst each other as they cast ratty dice and cards over crates. Some were still passed out in alleys. Women with tight bodices and severe eye cosmetics loitered in groups at street corners. Emily tactfully averted her gaze from the expanses of their decolletage. 

A few of the more sober-looking men cast their trio a few side looks as Garcia led them through the labyrinth of streets, and Emily couldn’t help but feel exposed without the comfortable weight of her coat over her shoulders. She had her pistol and sword by her side, to be sure, but they didn’t provide her as much peace of mind as she’d hoped.

She didn’t miss the countless concealed weapons on every last one of the pirates in town.

A door to their left burst open all of a sudden, making all three of them jump - but it was just a pair of men, hollering at each other and throwing punches. Faces peered out from the bar they’d just left, eager to see the fight and hollering for one or the other to win. Bottles of rum flashed within the gritty interior.

Garcia put a bit more hurry into her step, and Emily didn’t blame her.

“Still waiting on seeing that ‘good part’ you were talking about, Babygirl,” Morgan muttered.

“It’s right up here, quit your worrying,” Garcia murmured back.

“Who’s worrying?” Emily said.

“Listen,” the pirate said, “Doesn’t matter how well you can handle yourself in a fight. There are pirates, and then there are the men who really _ do _deserve a prison cell. And do you really wanna be a woman with those creeps around?”

Emily couldn’t disagree… but she filed away Garcia’s words. _ So even among pirates, there are certain characters one ought to keep one’s distance from. _

As they continued to weave under overhanging roofs and around shops, the atmosphere of Keg Town… _ did _ seem to shift a bit. The change was slight - there were still drunks and prostitutes and tavern brawls scattered about, and the buildings still looked like they’d been scrounged from rubble and driftwood, but the hungry, volatile look in the eyes of the citizens… seemed to vanish. 

The storefronts here, further away from the wharf sector, were actually rather well-maintained, if still haphazard and cobbled together. The sound of hammers rang out from the lantern-lit windows of a forge. Laughter - sober laughter - pealed from the open door of an inn. There were even a few streetlights at a few of the hairpin corners.

Garcia’s shoulders were noticeably more relaxed as they continued to walk deeper into the town. The pirate even sent a few nods and smiles to some of the people they passed on the streets. 

At one point, they passed a pair of men standing at a cart, haggling over a price with the vendor. A little girl hung onto one of their tunics. As the trio passed, Emily noted that the two men were holding hands. The shorter - the one to whom the girl clung - suddenly stood up on his toes and pressed a kiss to his partner’s cheek.

Morgan was watching them, too. His expression was flat… but his eyes looked somewhat haunted, lonely, watching those two men and their daughter display their affection so publicly.

Emily chose not to force the weaponsmith to explain that look on his face. Instead, she merely noted it and moved on.

“Aha!” Garcia suddenly exclaimed, throwing a hand in the direction of the next building. “Here we are.”

Emily tipped her head at the establishment. Two latticed glass windows flanked the double doors of the inn that now stood before them, allowing golden lamplight to shine through onto the sunny street. The second story hung over the first, supported by small, carved planks of wood. Above the door hung a sign that read _ Rosaline’s _.

“I thought you said her name was Jennifer,” Morgan said. 

“It is,” Garcia replied. “Rosaline was her sister, she died before I even met JJ.”

“Oh.”

The pirate took a deep breath, making little pinching gestures with her hands as if to calm herself. Her eyes then snapped open. “Alright,” she beamed to her companions. “In we go. I cannot wait to see the look on Will’s face…”

And she pushed open the doors to the inn.

There weren’t many people in the main room, strewn with tables and benches and supported here and there with large timbers. Windows all around let in the sunlight from outside. A man stood behind the bar at the far end with his back to the door, wiping out a mug with a rag.

Garcia strode right up to him like this was her home and rapped on the bartop. “Good to see business is still hopping, William,” she said brightly.

The man turned, locked eyes on Garcia, and froze - eyes wide, mouth slightly open. He didn’t look threatening to Emily - a solid build, to be sure, but there wasn’t a flicker of danger in his face. “Good lord,” he said, his voice heavily accented. “Penelope?”

“In the flesh.”

“You…” He came around the bar, still in shock - but that shock was rapidly recovering into absolute elation. “Lord, you really got out!”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Garcia laughed, embracing the man in a tight hug, squeezing her shoulders with a grin on her face. 

“I will admit, I had my doubts, seein’ as it was the commodore you were up against.” He pulled away and clapped her on the shoulder with a smile. “I sure learned my lesson, then. Never doubt Captain Penelope Garcia.”

“Never, indeed.” Garcia finally acknowledged Morgan and Emily, who had been standing awkwardly by the nearest table. “I did have some help, though. Will, this is Derek Morgan of Port Quantico. He was the one who got the keys that busted me out of my cell.”

“Will Lamontagne,” the man said, shaking Morgan’s hand. He looked to Emily. “And…”

“Emily Prentiss,” Garcia smirked.

Will’s hand stopped short. Emily pressed her lips together. “As…” said Will, “As in _ Commodore _ Prentiss?”

“Yes,” Emily admitted. 

The man looked to Garcia. “Penelope, I know you’re amazing and all, but… how the hell did you get the _ commodore _ on your side?”

“I may have stolen her ship in my haste to beat it out of Port Quantico,” she shrugged.

“And I’m not on her side,” Emily insisted. “I was just caught in their jailbreak scheme… and now I’m just coming along to save my friend.”

“Oh, right, and that reminds me why we’re here.” Garcia craned her neck to peer at the rest of the room. “Will, where’s your beautiful boss? I need her help.”

“Right, right,” he said, still eyeing Emily warily but eventually deciding that she was not a threat at the moment. He pushed open a side door and called down, “Hey, Jennifer?”

“Yeah?” came a voice from within.

“There’s someone here for you.”

“If it’s that captain of the _ Pentagon _ again, tell him I’m still not interested in joining his crew and I’m not going to change my mind.”

“No, no it’s not him. Just… just come on out here, I think you’ll want to see for yourself.”

A sigh. Will sent Garcia a wink, and moments later a woman stepped out of the back, dusting her hands on her long skirt. She was no doubt beautiful. She had long, blonde hair in soft waves down her back and large, blue eyes in her pretty face - blue eyes that opened wide as she took in the guests.

Or, more specifically, her captain.

“Oh, my God, _ Penelope! _” Jennifer Jareau gasped, immediately throwing her arms around her. 

“How you holding up, angel?” Garcia laughed.

“Fine, fine,” she replied, finally holding her at arm’s length, smiling with raw relief. “God, I knew you’d get out of there, Penelope, I just knew it.”

“Tell that to your bartender, there, I don’t think he was too optimistic.”

“Oh, trust me, I tried.” She shot her friend a playful look, and he lifted his hands in mock resignation. “It’s still such a relief to finally see you again.”

“Much as I would love to catch up and tell you about my daring escape from the clutches of Port Quantico…” Garcia said, “We have other orders of business to tackle first.”

JJ’s face immediately fell, and she set her jaw. “Cat,” she said.

The pirate nodded. “Cat.”

“You can take the back room,” Will said, nodding his head towards the door his wife had just emerged from. “Holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Will.”

“No problem.” His expression had lost all of its former elation - he was all business, now. “I’ve half a mind to join you all and give that two-faced snake a piece of my mind.”

Without further ado, JJ ushered the three of them into the room - but instantly freezing upon meeting Emily’s eyes. “Commodore,” she blinked.

But Emily held up a hand. “It’s… it’s just Emily,” she said. _ My title is causing so many unpleasant, unforeseen issues in this endeavor… _

“And you’re… a new partner of Penelope’s?” 

“For now,” Garcia piped up, settling herself at one of the seats of the round table in the middle of the small room. “She’s going to give us a ten second head start before she starts gunning for us, once we catch up to Cat.”

JJ still looked wary - Emily was reminded of a mother bear, eyeing down a threat. Not that she could blame her. She _ had _ almost captured this woman and hauled her in alongside her captain. 

“She’s harmless, JJ.”

The first mate narrowed her eyes just a little bit more before she finally closed the door behind the group. 

Emily took her seat, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. Jennifer Jareau might have been wearing a corset over her blouse and a skirt that went nearly to the floor, but that was muscular definition on her bare shoulders. This woman was a fighter, and Emily didn’t feel like getting on her bad side.

When she’d finally completed her evaluation of their newest companion, Morgan had already been introduced and they had all taken their seats. JJ leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her middle. “So,” she said, looking to her captain. “I assume we’re here to talk about getting the _ Black Queen _ back.”

Garcia quirked her mouth to the side, tipping her head to the side in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “Yes and no,” she decided. “Firstly, yes, we _ are _ going to get our ship back. But, in addition to that… it seems that our dear friend Cat Adams has kept herself quite busy with her newly acquired vessel.”

JJ sighed. “She’s already out plundering, isn’t she.”

“More than that, unfortunately.”

“She attacked my official envoy in broad daylight,” Emily said, interlacing her fingers on the worn tabletop. “Five days ago.”

The first mate blinked slowly, absorbing that information. “That’s… one way to make a name for herself,” she muttered. “Go big or go home, I guess. Especially since… since you had just taken Penelope into custody.”

Emily pressed her lips together and averted her gaze. For once, hearing one of her military victories brought up in conversation felt… uncomfortable.

“She didn’t even stop there, though,” Garcia said gently, her eyebrows creasing together with concern. “She took a hostage for ransom.”

“A hostage? Who?”

“Spencer Reid.” That was Morgan who spoke now, his dark eyes fixed on the table. His voice was low and pained. “Governor Gideon’s nephew.”

JJ’s face went absolutely ashen as that name passed Morgan’s lips. Eyes wide. Shoulders limp. She almost looked like she’d stopped breathing. “S… Spence?” she whispered. “She took _ Spence? _”

Emily furrowed her brows. _ Spence? This pirate refers to the nephew of the governor by a nickname? Who _ is _ she? _ “You… know of him?” she asked. 

She nodded dumbly, still stone-faced and utterly horrified. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I… of _ course _I know of him, he and I came to Port Quantico together.”

“What?” Garcia blinked. “Wait a second, JJ, _ what _? Why is this the first time I’m hearing of this?”

“My best friend from the mainland, Spencer Reid? The one I always send letters to every once and awhile? I never told you about him?”

“If you did it was forever ago, I don’t remember.”

“God, I haven’t seen him in… it’s been _ years _, now. Since we were teenagers. And now - you said Cat Adams took him hostage off the commodore’s own ship? Oh, God…” She dropped her head into her hand, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I… didn’t realize Spencer knew any pirates,” Emily said.

“He knew me since before I became a pirate, our families were friends back on the mainland. Pretty sure he had a crush on me when we were kids.” JJ’s head snapped up. “What was he even _ doing _ on a ship? He always _ hated _ sailing.”

_ Proposing marriage against his will and mine. _“It’s a long story,” Emily admitted.

“Yeah, can we maybe not get into all this background right now?” Morgan asked, making a fist on the table. “I understand this must be kind of a shock to you, JJ, but Reid is in serious danger and I need a plan to get him back.”

You_ need a plan? _Emily flicked her eyes his way, recalling that lonely look on his face when he’d seen those two men by the vendor with their daughter… 

“Oh, I’m down,” JJ insisted, laying a palm flat on the table, her eyes burning with a new ferocity. “_ Trust _ me, I know _ all _about the danger he’s in right now. God, I can’t believe he’s gotten himself tangled up in this mess, he must be terrified…”

Garcia nodded, casting a sympathetic look to the weaponsmith. “Derek’s right,” she said. “We can explain all of the new tangles in this web of connections later. What we need right now is a lead on the _ Black Queen _. Which is why we came to you, JJ.”

The first mate shook her head to clear it. “Well,” she said. “I haven’t heard anything of the _ Queen _ since Cat stole it and turned us in. She must have been on the seas this whole time, and I’ve… well, I’ve been here, waiting for you. But I can talk to some of my friends in town and see what they know.”

“You’re a lifesaver, angel,” Garcia beamed.

“I’m assuming you need a crew, too?” JJ went on. “How did you guys get here in the first place?”

“My ship,” Emily said. “The _ Redwing _. Commandeered out from under me with me still on board.”

“Look, I’m sorry! I didn’t have time to sweep the ship before we set sail!” Garcia moaned.

“So that’s how the commodore came to be a part of your group,” JJ said.

Emily shrugged sheepishly.

The first mate looked to her… then cracked a smile. “So it really is just you three?” she said. At their trio of nods, her smile broadened a little more. “I can fix that in no time. Some of my best connections are in town right now, actually, some of the few pirates I trust as much as you, Penelope. If you guys want to hang out here at the inn with Will, I can get word to them all before sundown. We’ll have a crew ready to go the moment we set out.”

Morgan blinked. “Wow,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, have I mentioned that you’re a lifesaver?” Garcia said.

JJ rose from the table with a short laugh. “I assume this means you might just want me to come with you, then?”

“Uh, _ yes please _.”

“Say no more,” she grinned, shrugging her shoulders. “I’d’ve come along either way, of course, but it’s nice to know I’m still wanted.”

Garcia rolled her eyes. “Get outta here with that ‘nice to know I’m still wanted’ trash, I couldn’t get along without you and you know it.”

JJ just winked and slipped partly out the door - only before taking hold of the doorframe and poking her head back in. “Make yourselves comfortable around here, all of you,” she said. “Food’s on the house if you’re hungry. Take a bath if you want it, we’ve got empty rooms upstairs. I’ll be back by sunset.”

“Bye, JJ, work your magic.” Garcia wiggled her fingers in her first mate’s direction before she slipped out the door. She sighed, then looked to Emily and Morgan. “Well, you heard the girl. Make yourselves comfortable. I call the first bath, I’ve been sitting in a jail cell for over a week. Derek, you’re next, you still smell like a forge.”

“Fair enough,” Morgan said, lifting his palms in resignation. “Don’t use up all the hot water, Babygirl.”

“No promises, hot stuff.” And she was out the door in a swish of her asymmetrical skirt.

Emily raised her eyebrows at Morgan, who spread his hands wider in a ‘What?’ gesture. She just shook her head with a grin forming on her lips.

* * *

JJ was gone all day as expected.

Will adhered to the ‘food on the house’ promise - it must have been a common policy for members of JJ’s crew. All three of them took their turns scrubbing off their days of travel in the rooms upstairs, and even though she was sitting in the heart of pirate territory, Emily had to admit that a nice bath did wonders for relaxation.

The few stitches in her gunshot wound couldn’t come out for a long while, but at least the skin around it wasn’t red and infected. She was careful to wash it, wincing at the sting all the while.

New clothes were found for all - and new bandages for Emily. The loose white shirt, accompanying tunic vest, leggings, and boots that were laid on her bed were of coarser material than she was used to, and they seemed somewhat worn, but they were sturdy and clean.

She almost didn’t recognize herself in the small mirror on the wall once she’d donned her new outfit. Without her usual pressed and gleaming getup of the commodore’s rank, she looked… well, she looked like a pirate.

But she decided that in this situation… being the commodore would be more of a hindrance than an asset. She could stomach being a pirate for a while.

Once she recovered Spencer, she could go back to her old life.

_ Except you can’t. He still needs to propose. And you’ll be right back where you started. _

That thought immediately turned Emily’s insides to cold, heavy lead. She shook her head and brushed out the door, perhaps a little too harshly.

_ I’ll deal with that when the time comes. _

_ Spencer comes home with us first. _

The sun was setting red in the west by the time JJ returned to the inn, somewhat dusty from her quest through the streets of Keg Town but otherwise pleased - Emily could tell from the gleam in the first mate’s eyes that she was ecstatic to be working with her captain again after her period of stagnation.

“I have good news and bad news,” JJ said, folding her hands on the table in the back room. There were more people crowding the main hall of the inn, eating their dinners with their friends - and families. 

“Oh, bad news first, let’s get that over with,” Garcia frowned. Her new outfit consisted of a bright pink blouse, laced up the front with a black corset. Her skirt - cut in the same higher-in-the-front fashion - was a soft, pale yellow. She was without doubt the flashiest-dressed pirate Emily had ever seen. 

Again, further confusing her opinion of the woman.

JJ sighed. “No one’s heard anything of Cat. Or the _ Black Queen. _”

The little room seemed to deflate. Morgan closed his eyes and hung his head, knuckles white.

“I’m sorry. I scoured the docks for information first, but no one knew anything. Even as I worked my way back up here, the best I could gather were flimsy rumors and hearsay. We’re just going to have to stay a little while longer until someone sails into port with a heading for us.”

“I guess this is the best place for us to be,” Emily said. JJ nodded apologetically.

Garcia piped up. “So… what’s the good news, then?”

“Oh.” The first mate brightened again. “Well, you’ve got yourself a crew. I scrounged up a handful of friends who would be willing to join us on our journey to take down Cat. They’re ready to leave when we are.”

“Perfect!” Garcia clapped her hands together, beaming.

“So we just… what, wait here?” Morgan didn’t look nearly as cheerful - just the opposite, actually. “In Keg Town? Holed up in this little room while Reid is out there somewhere?”

“Morgan, believe me,” JJ insisted, her eyes pained, “I hate it, too. The last time I saw Spence, back on the docks in Port Quantico… I don’t want that to be the last time I see him.”

“There has to be something we can do. Why can’t we just… just set sail and scour the seas for her?”

“Because that would slash what little chance we stand waiting here to next to nothing. This archipelago is _ big, _ there are almost a hundred islands spread out all over, not to mention all the waterways and canals in the expanses between them.” The first mate’s jaw was set. “I want to have at least a solid _ guess _ as to where she is before we set out. That’s the _ only _ way we’re going to find her.”

“Calm down, Morgan,” Emily murmured to him, rubbing her thumbs in her lap. “We can’t lose our heads now.”

A muscle feathered in the weaponsmith’s jaw as he fumed, his dark gaze flickering between her, JJ, and Garcia. Eventually, he shoved his chair back from the table so hard it almost hit the wall and stalked to the door, nearly wrenching it off its hinges as he yanked it open.

“Hey,” Garcia exclaimed, her lips parting in equal parts outrage and worry. She, too, got up from her seat and followed him out, catching the door before it swung shut in her face.

JJ and Emily shared a glance, and the first mate raised an eyebrow at the door. “Is he… always like that?” she asked.

Emily flicked her eyebrows in a shrug, resignedly rising from her own chair and making to follow after them. “You should have seen him when he first heard the news,” she said. “He looked like he was about to pick a fight to the death with every last one of my officers.”

“What… exactly is his relationship with Spence, again?” she asked, tipping her head to the side in a question.

“Honestly… I’m starting to wonder that myself,” she replied, leaving the room. JJ rose silently and joined her.

Garcia and Morgan were nowhere to be found in the company of the hall. Will motioned to the front doors when the two women asked after where they’d gone. 

“I kicked them out before they made too much of a scene in front of the patrons,” he murmured.

“Thanks.” JJ nodded before they, too, pushed out of the inn and into the twilight outside.

The captain and the weaponsmith were engaged in a discussion of heated whispers - the former with a worried hand on the shoulder of the distressed and sullen latter. They looked up immediately upon seeing JJ and Emily arrive.

“Morgan, are you okay?” Emily asked.

He glanced to the side, agitated. Wiped a hand down over his mouth. Put his hands on his hips, glanced down at his feet for a second. “I’m fine,” he finally muttered. “Just… I…”

“I know.” That was JJ. She, too, placed a soothing hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

He just sighed tightly.

Emily was about to say something helpful herself when, out of nowhere, Garcia’s eyes went wide - and the hand that had been on Morgan’s shoulder snapped right to the sword slung by her side. Immediately, Emily whirled, putting a hand to her own pistol.

_ We’re still in Keg Town, we might be in a nicer area but we’re still in Keg Town, the stories you heard are still true - _

But it was no snarling horde of scurvy-ridden degenerates clawing their way up the street, as Emily had envisioned. No, it… it was just one man. A head of dark hair. Well built. 

But Garcia looked like she’d seen a ghost. She drew her sword and held it out, keeping the sharp point between the newcomer and herself. “What are _ you _ doing here?” she exclaimed.

The man stopped in the glow of the windows of the establishment next door, and Emily watched recognition slam into his features. His sword was drawn in an instant, but he looked… no, _ he _ was the one who looked like he’d seen a ghost, not Garcia. His sword trembled and his face was pale as a sheet behind his eyeglasses. “You…” he squeaked.

Emily slid her pistol into her hand and gripped it tight. Beside her, JJ had her feet planted - not noticeably, but enough to ready herself for a fight if one came.

“You’re…” the man looked downright spooked, staring down Garcia. “You’re supposed to be in _ jail _ . In _ Port Quantico! _ What are _ you _ doing here?”

“I asked you first, Kevin,” she frowned.

“Just looking for _ dinner _,” he exclaimed. His breathing was labored, like he’d run all the way there.

“Alright, alright, relax,” JJ said, stepping beside her captain and holding out her hands towards both of them. “Put your swords down and start talking. You first, Kevin.”

Emily looked to Morgan, but he was equally confused. Clearly, this was a matter involving the pirates alone. 

The pirate named Kevin lowered his sword but didn’t sheathe it. “What do you mean, me first?” he frowned. “Penelope, _ you’re _ the one who doesn’t belong, in this picture. Cat turned you in!”

_ Cat? _

“And where _ is _Cat, huh?” JJ snapped, looking him over. “What, did you desert or something? How’d you get here?”

He swallowed. “I didn’t desert yet.”

The conversation stilled in the air around them as the weight of that statement settled in. 

Of what it meant.

_ JJ said she searched the town, starting at the docks and making her way up over the course of the day. _

_ Which means, after she cleared the docks and moved on, it’s possible that… _

“Ohhhh boy,” Kevin whispered. “Oh, no, this… this is not going to end well…”

“Why?” Morgan demanded. “Babygirl, what’s going on?”

“It means we’re about to see some action a _ lot _ sooner than we thought,” JJ said huskily.

Garcia rounded on the rest of the group, her eyes blazing with sudden intensity - and fear. “Cat Adams is here in Keg Town.”


	8. Escape!

It took two seconds for Derek to process what Garcia just said.

And less than one for him to rush at the pirate named Kevin and grab him by his shirtfront.

“Where is she?” he shouted. “Where is that ship?”

“In the pier!” Kevin squeaked, his small eyes wide. “We just made port not half an hour ago!”

“Derek, cool it,” Garcia said, pulling his arm off the man. 

He let him go forcefully and turned to the captain. “We have to go,” he insisted. “ _ Now _ , Garcia, this is our shot! Who knows when an opportunity like this is going to come around again? We’re storming that ship  _ now _ , while she’s here!”

“No, no, no, no, do  _ not _ go rushing into this headlong,” she exclaimed right back at him. “We have to think this through carefully.”

“To hell with that, Babygirl, that is  _ your ship _ down there, don’t you want to get it back!?”

“Of course I do, that’s why we’re going to form a  _ plan _ before we take one step down that road.”

“You can’t storm the  _ Queen _ ,” Kevin said weakly. “It’s not going to work.”

“And  _ why the hell not _ .”

The pirate blanched at Derek’s tone, but continued. “Cat kicked out most of the old crew when she took over,” he explained. “She replaced them with some of the scariest guys out there - real hard-broiled mercenary types, every last one of them armed to the teeth. No morals. They’re seriously bad news, and she’s got a whole shipful of them - most of them are scattering through town right now, hunting action, including her. They’re swarming.”

“And what about the governor’s nephew?” Derek snapped. “ _ Spencer Reid.  _ Is he on that ship, too?”

Kevin blinked. “You… know him?”

“Is he on the ship?”  _ Is he alive? _

“Yes, he’s on the ship! Cat had him locked up but she let him roam around while we were at sea, he’s back in his cell tied up right now so he doesn’t get out. She’s got her best men watching the deck.”

_ He’s alive. _

“I think… I think the captain took kind of a liking to him. She kept running into him all the time, and there was some serious… tension.”

The fleeting breath of relief that Derek had felt upon hearing that Reid was alive immediately vanished, leaving him with a sick feeling in his stomach.

“So how do we get him out?” Prentiss asked. “Can we sneak on board and ambush them? How many are on the deck?”

But Kevin was already shaking his head of curls. “I’m not messing with those guys head-on,” he squeaked. “No way.”

“Kevin.” Garcia sheathed her sword and took his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers. “We have a ship. We’re building a crew to take Cat down and reclaim the  _ Black Queen _ . Feel like deserting her now?”

“You’re  _ what? _ Penelope, you’re crazy -”

“You know I’m not. Are you in or out, Kevin? We could use a navigator with your skills - not to mention, it’s one less navigator on Cat’s side.”

He glanced off down the road as raised voices floated from that direction - probably another tavern brawl somewhere. “How much of a chance do you guys stand against her?” he worried.

“Enough,” JJ assured him, her blue eyes determined. 

Glass shattered down the road before Kevin could give a definitive answer. Frowning, the group collectively peered off in that direction - just as a gunshot split the night. 

Then another.

“That’s getting heated,” Emily muttered.

And in that moment, two burly men careened around a corner from the direction of the fight, pistols out. One of them was limping - and that was blood on the leg of his trousers. The other caught sight of the group outside  _ Rosaline’s _ and pointed a finger their way, mouth dropping open.

“ _ There he is! _ ”

Kevin squeaked out a swear at the top of his lungs as both brawlers immediately rounded their guns on their group out of nowhere, and everyone scattered.

Two gunshots.

One from the closer aggressor, which pinged off a streetlamp and cracked into the wall of the inn.

And one from Prentiss, which went straight through that man’s shoulder. 

The pirate howled and collapsed to the ground. His companion barely had time to register what happened before JJ was on him with a roundhouse kick. He went down with a sharp wheeze - cut off abruptly by his head hitting the cobblestones.

Emily blinked, a look of surprise and no small amount of awe at the woman’s display on her face.

Garcia’s hand was clutched tightly around her sword, breathing hard. “Thanks, girls,” she exclaimed.

“Those were Cat’s men,” Kevin said from where he’d leaped to hide behind Derek.

Derek immediately stepped away from him to scowl his way. “What did you do to them?” he asked. “I thought you said you  _ didn’t _ desert.”

“Well, now I think I just did. I, ah… I may have been the one who gave the one guy that gunshot wound in his calf.”

Garcia’s mouth dropped open. “Kevin  _ what _ ? Here? You  _ know _ how easily fights spread in this town -”

“I know, I know, that’s the point, I was  _ trying… _ ” He ran a hand through his hair to clear his thoughts. “Look. Reid. Right? He  _ asked _ me to do that. I told him I was feeling like jumping ship when we made port and he asked me to create a distraction. That chaos down there?” Another loud crash rumbled from afar as if to punctuate his sentence. “That’s all  _ me _ .”

“Wow,” JJ blinked. 

“Why did he ask you to do that?” Derek asked.  _ What is Reid planning…  _

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me! I just saw those two guys from the ship milling around in a crowded plaza and shot the one, and… and then I ran. Everything went to shit after those two pulled their guns and gave chase.”

And they weren’t the only ones. The sounds of fighting were swelling on the night air as gunshots began to light up the town - congested around the docks, mostly, but rapidly spreading into every corner of the settlement.

Derek was suddenly reminded of what Garcia had said about Keg Town before they made port:  _ It’s like a powder keg in that the place is  _ always _ ready to blow. At any given moment. _ In the daytime, with regular citizens out and about, it had seemed more subdued - but the night had no such reservations.

The dangerous players stalked the streets in the moonlight. And now, the fuse running through the town’s streets had just been lit.

“Typical Cat,” JJ growled, flexing her fingers. “Not even in town for an hour and her friends are already starting fights.”

“God, the people in this town just flock to full-out brawls like sharks to blood in the water, don’t they?” Garcia shot a look down the street - clear for that moment - then gathered the group together. “This is where all those stories of Keg Town come from, kids,” she explained. “We need to get out of here. These streets are going to be lit up in minutes, thanks to Kevin here.”

“Whoa, whoa, what do you mean ‘get out of here’?” Derek exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, but because of our dear friend Cat and her gaggle of goons, this town is going to explode. We’re jumping on the  _ Redwing _ and putting distance between us and this place.”

“Reid is  _ on  _ that ship! He’s  _ right there! _ ”

“Derek has a point,” Prentiss insisted. “If people in this town are drawn to the fighting like you said, Garcia, then maybe this can work in our advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a townwide distraction. Everyone’s going to be gunning for everyone else. It’s possible the men on the deck of the  _ Queen _ will be distracted enough for us to jump on and find Spencer.”

“Em, I love you, but that’s risky,” Garcia said.

“We might not have a shot like this again,” JJ said, nodding to Prentiss. “I’m with Prentiss and Morgan. I say we strike now, then beat it out of here quick with Spence in tow. I can get word to our crewmates and lead them all to the  _ Redwing _ in no time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, Penelope. We might not be able to retrieve the  _ Queen  _ right now, but we can do our damn best to get Spence away from her, and that’s half the battle.”

She breathed in short and let it out. “Fine. New plan. Emily, help JJ find our crew and ready the ship for a quick getaway. Derek, you’re with me. You too, Kevin, you’re on our crew now. We’re making a break for the governor’s nephew.”

Derek’s heart soared.

“If we’re doing this, we better  _ move _ ,” warned Kevin. 

Garcia nodded. “Everyone get your weapons out and stay ready for a fight. Let’s go!”

JJ dashed back into the inn to get word to Will on what was going down before she left. Derek broke into a dead sprint beside Garcia and Kevin. The captain ducked into a winding alley, and he dove in after her, every nerve in his body singing.

_ We’re getting him back. _

“Where’s your sword?” Garcia exclaimed.

Derek slapped his hands to his sides, and realized with a jolt that it wasn’t on him. He’d never strapped it back on after his bath earlier that day - the simple blade he’d snatched from his forge back in Port Quantico was still in the inn. “Not here,” he said.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” As she ran, she pulled an iron revolver out of its sheath and thrust it into his hands. “Fully loaded,” she said. “You know how to shoot, I hope?”

“Yes, I can shoot.”

“Good. Don’t get trigger happy, you only have five bullets and we don’t have time to reload.”

There were people in the streets - some of them shouting and fearful, running from the brunt of the fighting in the streets and plazas, some of them running  _ towards _ the fighting with weapons drawn. The pair of them made zigzag patterns through alleys and across the avenues as they made their way to the docks. Garcia knew all the shortcuts like the back of her hand, and for that Derek was grateful - he’d have gotten lost in two seconds trying to follow her path on his own.

_ We’re getting him back. We’re getting him back…  _

The buildings closing in on them suddenly gave way as they popped out on the dirt road running perpendicular to the dark piers. A shout to their left drew both of their attention as a man hurtled for them with his sword drawn. Garcia had her own sword out and parried the blade away before knocking the pirate upside the head with the pommel.

Derek grasped for his own blade and found only the curved grip of the revolver instead.

But the pirate was down and Garcia and Kevin were already moving, so he just gripped it harder and followed.

_ We’re getting him back… _

“Which ship is yours?” Derek shouted over the din of the fighting. It was an all-out war on this stretch of the city bordering the docks - pirates running about, torches knocked over, white smoke from pistols wisping into the air in clouds, flashing blades, flying fists.

Kevin pointed to a dark vessel at the far end of the nearest pier. “There!” he shouted. “With the unicorn figurehead!”

They wasted no time. Their boots pounded on the packed earth road, and then on the dark, salt-crusted boards of the dock. 

Men ran towards them down the pier - hopefully, having jumped off the various ships to join in the melee. Hopefully, having jumped off the  _ Queen _ , leaving fewer of them to stop them from boarding. Derek could only hope.

Anyone who got in their way or tried to start something was pushed to the side or disarmed by the pirate’s blades. Derek threw a punch against a man fighting to reload his pistol, and the force knocked him right over the edge and into the black water below with a splash.

“Nice one!” the captain grinned before kicking a small opponent’s feet out from under him.

“Thanks,” he felt himself smiling back. It did feel good, he decided as they quickly closed the distance between them and the ship - and Reid _ . _ It felt good to be running, good to be fighting, because at least his pent-up energy finally had somewhere to  _ go _ .

Garcia threw the three of them against the side of a pile of barrels on the docks just as they came within sight of the deck of the  _ Black Queen. _ There was a commotion on the deck.

“What?” Derek hissed.

“Someone’s fighting,” she hissed back, craning her head around to see.

Derek and Kevin followed suit. There was definitely something going on. Since their position was so much lower than the rails, he couldn’t see much - just a head or two bobbing above it once or twice. A shout pierced the night.

His heart suddenly leaped into his throat, cold lancing through his stomach.  _ That sounded like - _

The two people grappling suddenly hit the rails - a mountain of a man, dark skin gleaming in the light of the torches, with pale, slender arms wrapped around his tree trunk of a neck from behind. The pirate wrenched his head to one side in an effort to free himself from the grip of his attacker - 

Long brown hair flying free of its ponytail. Dark eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted.

_ That’s Reid! _

Before Derek could even call out his name, the pirate Reid was attempting to strangle reached back and yanked him off his back, hurling him to the deck with a sharp  _ thump _ and a cry. He rounded on him, snarling -  _ I can’t see him on the ground from here, where is he, where IS HE -  _ reaching into his belt for a pistol  _ that’s a pistol he’s GONNA - _

Reid pushed himself up off the deck and drove his shoulder straight up into the man’s diaphragm with his momentum.

And the pirate went down.

Garcia’s mouth fell open. “Is that -”

The governor’s nephew wasted no time. That blow was only enough to knock the wind from the pirate’s lungs, after all. Before the man even hit the deck, Reid was already making a break for the gangplank. Hurling himself over the rails. Dashing down the plank. His boots hit the slick deck, he skidded, flailed his arms once, regained his footing -

_ “Reid! _ ”

His head snapped up to the sound of his name, eyes wild and wide. Derek had one hand braced on the barrels beside him, staring at him, half in a lunge, his heart thundering in his chest.

Reid’s mouth fell open as he halted. His hair was in disarray, his clothes were a mess, and there was stubble clinging to his jaw, but in that moment… he was the most beautiful thing Morgan had ever seen. 

“ _ Morgan!? _ ” he exclaimed. His face started to break into a wild grin, “Morgan, what the hell are you -”

_ Bang _ .

A wordless shout.

And Reid dropped to the dock like a stone.

“ _ REID!” _

Derek  _ moved. _ Before he could even process what he’d just seen happen. His hand was around the revolver, he was screaming, aiming straight for the huge pirate on the deck of the  _ Queen _ who had recovered from the blow and now held a pistol in his hand, its barrel smoking.

Two shots from Derek went wide. The pirate ducked, trained his eyes on him. One more shot clipped him on the pirate’s shoulder, jerking him. Another, and he collapsed behind the rails.

Derek didn’t even care to see what had happened to him because his own knees hit the dock. His pistol had vanished from his hand - he’d dropped it somehow. Frantically scanning the man before him for the shot that had taken him down.

“Reid, Reid, come on, kid,” he heard himself crying as he gripped him by the shoulder, turning him over, searching,  _ where is that gunshot? _ “Come on, Reid!”

Reid’s hand fisted on the dock as he gasped through his teeth from the motion. “ _ Leg _ ,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning. “I’m fine…  _ God  _ -”

“Is he okay?” Garcia. That was Garcia behind him. Derek couldn’t hear very well. Something was roaring in his ears, filling his brain with fog like he was in the middle of a burning building. 

He saw it, now. The tear in the fabric of his pants in his thigh above his knee, rapidly turning a dark, slick red. “Shot,” was all Derek could say. The only word that seemed to come to his mind.  _ Reid. _

_ Shot. _

_ On the ground. _

_ Shot. _

_ He can’t walk like this. _

“Derek, we got company,” Garcia was warning. Her sword lifted. Kevin was there too, his back to him, facing off down the dock.

“Gotta hold them off, Babygirl, I got him,” he said, the words tumbling out one after another as his focus remained frazzled, swirling around that wound in Reid’s leg as it steadily bled out.

“ _ Morgan _ .”

His name. Dark eyes, lucid but clouding with pain, locked onto his own. “We gotta…” he hissed, lifting his knees off the deck. “Stop the bleeding, get the bullet out -”

“I will, I  _ will _ , just hold on,” Derek exclaimed. Garcia and Kevin were fighting. His gaze swept their immediate area for something, anything, a strip of cloth. 

_ Strip of cloth _ . 

He immediately pulled at the bottom of his new shirt from the inn, tore off a large swath from the hem, and balled it up to press against the bleeding. Reid fumbled with it for a second before taking over and holding it on himself.

And without a moment more to lose, Derek looped his arms under the man’s legs and behind his back, slid his foot under him, and  _ lifted. _

Reid cried out again from the stress on his wound but had the good sense to grip around Derek’s shoulders with his free arm. They followed Garcia and Kevin, dodging the attackers they’d left on the ground in their wake.

The two pirates made quick work of anyone who came too close. They were running, now, with Garcia in the lead. The town proper was still roiling with melee. A wagon had even been set on fire.

“Whoa,” Reid breathed from Derek’s arms. “Kevin, this is…”

“Pretty crazy, isn’t it?” Kevin huffed as he jogged alongside them, keeping an eye out for more adversaries. “I haven’t seen it blow up like this in  _ years _ .”

“Yeah, it’s about time. Feels like everyone’s been chomping at the bit for a good battle royale,” Garcia shouted, ducking a sword and kicking its owner. 

Derek’s grip on the injured man was slipping, and he hefted him a little higher to fix it - earning another hiss that made his gut twist. He had to admit this wasn’t his most well-thought out plan. Reid may have been skinny, but he was  _ tall _ too, and that made him rather unwieldy to carry. Derek’s muscles were straining in his back and arms and legs with every stride.

But he was here.  _ He was here. _

_ I got him. _

_ I got him. _

“I got you,” he heard himself murmuring between breaths. “Just keep that wad of shirt on there, Pretty Boy, I got you…”

Reid, if he heard, only replied by holding onto him tighter.

The  _ Redwing _ soon appeared in its slip off to the far end of the pier, and Derek couldn’t have been more relieved. That ship meant freedom. Escape from this hurricane of violence that the town had devolved into. 

And it meant Reid was with them. Out of Cat’s clutches. Safe in his arms where he belonged.

_ I got him. _

Garcia scurried up the gangplank first, followed by Derek and Reid. His calves burned up the steep incline. It took all his effort not to drop him once he finally hit the deck - but Reid managed to get his uninjured leg under him and he collapsed against the red-painted rail with a gasp, keeping the wad of Derek’s shirt pressed firmly against his thigh. The fabric was more red than white.

“Where’s JJ?” Derek asked, catching his own breath. 

Reid’s head snapped up and his brows furrowed. “J… J?”

“Not here yet,” Garcia said. “Still gathering the crew in the middle of this mess.”

“Garcia… _Captain_ _Garcia_.” The poor governor’s nephew only seemed to notice her at that moment. “You… how do you and…” he glanced to Derek. “Are we on the _Redwing_? Is Emily here?”

“You’re in shock, I’ll explain everything later, I promise,” Derek insisted, putting one hand on his back. “We need that bullet out of your leg, first.”

“Oh, right.”

“You gotta stay with me, okay? I don’t know the first thing about healing, kid, you gotta tell me what to do here.”

Reid winced. “Med kit,” he said. “Is there one on this ship?”

“Here,” Garcia said, coming over and looping one of Reid’s arms around her shoulders. “Belowdecks. Lemme help him…”

“I think I see JJ,” Kevin called from the rails. “She’s got a whole group -”

“I’ll be back up in a second!” the captain replied. 

And so, with Garcia’s help, the hatch was lifted and Derek eased Reid down the steps into the hull of the ship. They were out of the fight. Out of the worst of it. 

And Derek only had one thing running through his mind.

_ We did it. _

_ We did it. _

_ I got him back. _

_ He’s back. _


	9. Protector

Spencer had never been shot before. And now that he knew what it felt like - like a white-hot ball of lead had punched a searing hole through his leg - he never wanted to be shot ever again. 

Morgan and Garcia placed him down sideways before one of the galley tables belowdecks, his wounded leg stretched out on the long bench. The pirate captain quickly disappeared back upstairs, leaving Morgan frantically digging through a nearby chest for the med kit.

Spencer shifted to lean one bent arm on top of the table, keeping his other firmly pressing the wad of Morgan’s shirt against the bleeding. His jaw clenched at the pain that even that tiny movement sent shooting through his leg. 

He’d read plenty of medical texts on different procedures for healing all sorts of wounds and illnesses. He’d also observed the town apothecary extract a bullet from the arm of a soldier once, so he knew exactly what to do.

Of course, that soldier had nearly passed out from the pain during the procedure.

And if the gunshot itself hurt this badly already, Spencer wasn’t too excited about what was about to happen to _ him _ \- especially since he couldn’t _ let _himself pass out like that soldier had. Morgan would have no idea how to continue if he did. 

There would be no respite from the pain for him.

This was going to really, really suck.

Morgan threw down the med kit on the bench by Spencer’s foot and knelt on the ground before the wound, still staining the leg of his pants. 

“Knife,” Spencer said right off the bat, holding out his hand. Without a word, the weaponsmith handed him a small surgical tool from the kit. Spencer immediately grabbed at his legging and made quick work of slicing through the fabric above the wound, abandoning the bloodied cloth on the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut from the movement, tipped his head back, and pressed the wad of shirt back over the bullet hole.

The weaponsmith’s panicked, dark eyes flicked to his. “Okay, start talking to me, kid,” he said. “What do I do first?”

He pried his eyes open again. “Get the bullet out before the lead gets into my blood,” he said.

“Okay.” Morgan’s callused hand rested over his own and gently lifted the bloodstained ball of fabric off the wound. Spencer sucked in a breath at the fresh sparks of pain and he could feel the blood seeping out of his leg. It didn’t seem to have broken a major artery, seeing as he probably would have been dead by now if it had, but he had still lost - and was still losing - quite a bit of blood. 

Morgan went to pick up a small pair of tweezers, but Spencer suddenly grabbed his wrist. “Wait,” he gasped. “Alcohol. We need rum. Is there rum on this ship?”

“_ Rum? _ ” The weaponsmith exclaimed. “You’re not getting any _ rum _, kid. I can’t have you drunk!”

“Not to _ drink _, it’s to sterilize the wound,” he snapped. His words came faster than usual from the panic and the pain.

“What?”

“The alcohol is a sterilization agent. Would you just go get it? I’m _ kind of _ bleeding out here.”

Morgan didn’t look convinced, but blood was indeed smearing across Spencer’s thigh at the moment so he heeded him and got the alcohol. He pulled out the cork of a bottle of dark liquid with his teeth and dropped down again, poised to pour it over the oozing wound. He glanced up at him for a moment for confirmation.

Spencer swallowed, staring at that bottle of imminent agony. “Do it,” he said tightly. “I’m gonna scream _ really _ loud, though. Just as a heads up.”

“_ What? _” 

“Just_ pour the goddamn rum _ Morga_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA _ SON OF A _ BITCH!” _

The rum splashed over the wound, and searing-hot pain immediately lanced through his entire body. His hands fisted on the table and the bench beside him as he seized from the pain. He tasted blood in his mouth - he’d bitten his tongue. He was in agony.

The sterilization hurt even more than the initial bullet. He hadn’t even thought that possible.

Morgan yanked the bottle away. Horror was raw on his face. “Are you sure that’s _ helping? _” he exclaimed.

“It’s helping, it’s helping,” Spencer gasped, pounding a fist on the table. Vertigo slammed into his brain as he ducked his chin, and his heart shot into his throat with a fresh wave of panic. _ Don’t pass out, don’t pass out… _ “God, son of a _ bitch _ that hurt _ … _”

“Hey, hey, stay with me, _ talk _ to me, Reid, _ what do I do next? _”

He took a deep breath to steady his breathing - and his spinning head. Trails of rum and blood dripped down his leg and onto the bench beneath. “That little knife,” he said through the blood in his mouth from his bitten tongue. He motioned weakly. “Alcohol that, too. Then…” he winced again. “Then you gotta… cut an ‘X’ over the wound so you can get down to the bullet with the tweezers…”

“You want me to cut you _ more? _ What kind of healing _ is _this?”

“Morgan, I _ really _ don’t have the energy to argue with you right now, just _ do it_,” he snapped, shooting him an agony-laced glare. 

Taking a knife to Spencer’s already-bleeding leg looked like the last thing the weaponsmith wanted to do, but he yielded to Spencer’s higher medical knowledge and did what he told him. Right before Morgan started his digging, Spencer snagged himself another piece of cloth and bit down on it to keep him from biting his tongue any further. 

The pain of the blade against the raw edges of the wound was enough to give his vision tilt again, but he just bit down harder and kept his eyes shut through every pass of the knife. Again. And again. 

And then the slicing pain was replaced with the burning probing of the tweezers. _ At least the burning means he sterilized them first, _ was the only coherent thought Spencer was able to come up with once Morgan started up with that.

“I can’t… get to it,” Morgan winced as he prodded a little with the tweezers. 

Spencer clenched his jaw hard as lances of pain shot through the muscles in his thigh. With his free hand, he ripped the cloth out of his mouth. There was a stain of red on it. “You gotta,” he gasped through his teeth. 

“Kid, I’m trying, there’s just so much blood -”

He managed to pry open his bleary eyes to see that both Morgan’s hand and the metal tweezers were red with his blood. He swallowed as his vision gave another dangerous tilt. “You… you can do this,” he whispered.

There was a pain in Morgan’s eyes that Spencer wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. Pain and helplessness and _ fear. This is what Derek Morgan looks like when he’s afraid. _“I don’t…” he said, his voice almost breaking, “I don’t know if I can.”

“You _ can _. Yes, you can. You’re Derek Morgan, you can do anything.” He took a shuddering breath. “Just please try again before I lose any more blood, I’m not feeling real great.”

“You’re not dying on my watch, Reid,” Morgan insisted. He gripped the tweezers in his bloodstained hand and, to his credit, began digging a little more fervently.

_ That’s what I thought, _ Spencer almost smiled to himself before that same fervent digging wrenched a sharp shout from his lungs.

At some point during the process after that, Spencer’s head dropped against his arm and rested on the table - he didn’t remember doing that. Everything was just a haze of prodding agony rippling outwards from his leg.

“Got it.”

Spencer managed to lift his head enough to see. Morgan’s fingers were smeared with blood - his blood - but in his hand were the tweezers, gripping the little lead ball.

He exhaled heavily, his heart thundering. _ Crazy how such a tiny thing could cause so much damage… _

_ Still hurts like a bitch, though… _

His head was reeling. _ Maybe if I just close my eyes for a second it won’t hurt so much… _

“Reid.” A rough hand against his cheek. In his half-delirious state, Spencer felt himself leaning into the gently touch with a soft groan. _ His voice is so soothing… _

“You gotta wake up, kid, just a little longer. Talk me through it. Do I stitch it closed now?”

He nodded. His head felt heavy. _ I’m losing too much blood… _“Sterilize the needle,” he murmured. “It’s like… like sewing a patch. Here…” he reached for the tools on the table. “I can…”

But Morgan just pushed his hand away. “No, you can’t,” he said. “Let me do it. You’re three seconds away from passing out, you’re white as a sheet.”

Spencer swallowed, sliding his palm limply back across the table to make a place for his head to rest against the crook of his elbow. “Don’t worry ‘bout… hurting me more, Morgan, it’s okay,” he slurred. His vision was blurring from holding his head up for so long.

“I know.” Rough palm was against his cheek again. A thumb brushing his cheekbone. “I’ve mended clothes once or twice. I think I can handle it from here, you just put your head down, kid…”

“You gotta… bandage it up after that…”

“I know, Pretty Boy, I got you, don’t you worry…”

Spencer didn’t remember his vision going dark. He didn’t feel a single one of the needle’s pricks, or any of the pain of the thread pulling the raw wound closed. All he knew was one moment Morgan was speaking to him, and the next he was coming to with his face was mashed into his arm and something around his leg, sending a dull ache through him with each pass. He winced as he picked up his heavy head again and blinked blearily.

Morgan was winding a bandage around his thigh with those gentle, callused hands. He’d even had the sense to place an extra wad of gauze over top of the wound and the stitches before he began bandaging. It looked like he’d washed off the blood smears, too. The rum bottle was almost empty. Spencer was rather impressed.

He looked up from his careful work. “You holding up, there, kid?” he asked.

Spencer cracked a fleeting half smile. “M-hm,” he breathed. 

“Good.” Over and under in slow passes, from the sheared edge of his pant leg all the way to his knee. 

Spencer just watched him work. His heart gave a little flutter from time to time. _ Probably a palpitation from losing so much blood. _ He did still feel pretty weak. 

But now that the stabbing and poking was finally over and done with and the agony from the gunshot had faded from a deafening cacophony to merely a low roar… Spencer could finally appreciate what was going on.

_ Morgan came for me. _

That thought soothed his war-torn mind. _M_ _ organ came for me and he’s here, he’s with me right now. I can see his face… it’s even better-looking than I remembered… his hands are kinda rough but it feels so good… _

The image of Morgan’s terrified face suddenly crossed into Spencer’s vision, and his soft happiness dissipated a bit. 

_ He… was really scared. _

_ I didn’t help that, much, with all my screaming at him. I mean, I _ was _ about to die, but… still. _

“Sorry for making you pour alcohol on me,” he muttered. “And… stab me.”

Morgan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s alright, kid.”

“Repeatedly.”

He flicked his eyebrows. “Well, you’re not bleeding your life out anymore, so I think it all turned out okay.”

“Yeah, all I have to worry about now is making sure the wound doesn’t get infected with gangrene. Then we’d have to cut my leg off.”

Morgan’s hands stilled on his leg, and he frowned up at him. “Is that… seriously something that could happen?” he asked.

“Did you disinfect every tool you stuck in me with the rum like I told you to?”

“Yes?”

“Then I’m probably in the clear.” The corner of his mouth ticked upwards again. He was so tired. So, so tired. “Good thing, too, I’m kind of attached to that leg.”

Morgan narrowed his eyes at him as he finished winding the bandage and tied it off. “You must be feeling better if you got enough energy for jokes already.”

Spencer just grinned down at his lap. “Thanks for doing all that,” he said softly. “I… I don’t think I could have patched myself up alone.”

“Hey. Anytime, kid.” The weaponsmith’s hand still rested gently over his bandages. He could feel the warmth through to his skin. “Just… don’t go getting yourself shot anytime soon, though, okay? This was painful enough for me.”

“For _ you? _ I’m the one with the bullet in his leg,” he said mock-indignantly.

But Morgan wasn’t laughing. He was just gazing down at his hand on Spencer’s leg. Spencer suddenly felt his heart do a somersault in his chest, and he swallowed.

_ Right. _

“I prayed,” the weaponsmith murmured. “When I first saw you go down. For a split second… I prayed to God that I hadn’t just watched you die.”

Spencer didn’t know what to say. And his heart rate had picked up significantly all of a sudden, which was a bit of a concern. _ Is this also from the blood loss? I’m gonna bleed through my stitches like this… _

“And I don’t pray often, lemme tell you.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I… I don’t remember the last time I prayed like that.”

There was a raw kind of emotion in the way Morgan spoke, and Spencer… wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, exactly. It was the same raw emotion that was on his face when he thought he wouldn’t be able to pull out the bullet, when he thought, for a moment, that there was nothing he could do to save him. 

It was making him a bit flustered and lightheaded, thinking about it all. Or it _ wasn’t _ , and he was just misreading the social cues of the situation - as he _ was _ prone to doing from time to time - and the weird feeling in his chest was just because of the blood loss after all.

But he was starting to think it was actually the former. 

_ You promised yourself you wouldn’t go there… _

But Spencer had made that promise before he’d been abducted and held hostage among pirates for almost a week. Before he’d tricked and fought his way off a pirate ship. Before he’d seen Morgan on the docks of Keg Town, miraculously _ there _ , his handsome face like a gasp of fresh air after being submerged underwater. Not a dream. _ There _.

_ You still have to propose to Emily. _

_ That doesn’t need to happen right now, though. I’ve been through a lot. I can afford to acknowledge my heart just this one time more. _

“Well, I’m… okay, now.”

Of course, that didn’t mean he’d be able to form a half-decent sentence if he did. 

He pressed his lips together and mentally kicked himself. _ It’s the blood loss, it’s the shock… _ “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said, trying again. 

“No, it’s not you, kid, it’s…” Morgan shook his head absently in lieu of finishing that thought, gazing out at nothing. His dark eyes suddenly lit up with the realization that his hand was still resting on Spencer’s knee, and he lifted it away, blinking. 

The gesture… kind of made Spencer’s heart sink. 

He wasn’t ready to be let go just yet… and he didn’t mind the feel of the weaponsmith’s hands on his skin, no matter how rough they might have been. The brush of his fingertips, the warmth of his palm. He didn’t want Morgan to take his hand off him.

He _ wanted _ that touch.

He almost voiced that sentiment, but immediately stopped himself with a shock.

_ You promised yourself… _

“Doesn’t matter,” Morgan decided, offering him a smile. “You’re right. You’re okay. We’ll get you back to Port Quantico and you can go back to reading all day in the library, or ordering new swords-” he winked at him as he said that, making Spencer’s heart flip, “- or whatever it is you do every day.”

_ Swords _.

Spencer’s insides turned to lead as he realized that he never stole his rapier back from Cat. It was sitting in the captain’s quarters of the _ Black Queen _.

Lost.

Again.

Maybe it was the lingering shock of being shot, maybe it was the lack of blood to his brain, but Spencer laughed. Ducked his chin, unable to check his smile all of a sudden.

“What’s so funny, Pretty Boy?” Morgan narrowed his eyes playfully.

He just sighed to try to regain his composure, turning a sheepish glance on the weaponsmith. “I lost my sword again,” he whispered.

Morgan blinked. Stared for a long moment as Spencer pressed his lips together.

And then the weaponsmith snorted and started laughing, too. “Dammit, Reid…”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer couldn’t help smiling.

“Man, I leave you alone for a _ week _, and what do you go and do?”

“I’m _ sorry _ ! It’s not my _ fault _ this time!” he exclaimed. “I got _ kidnapped and held for ransom on a pirate ship, _ Morgan, what do you expect?”

“Oh, and all the other times _ were _your fault?” Morgan lifted an eyebrow, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth.

Spencer breathed another laugh, but he quickly turned it into a cough as his good feeling shifted into guilt. Heat began to creep up his face. He averted his gaze. 

Morgan’s own chuckles faded the longer Spencer went without responding. His eyebrows furrowed, the remnants of his smile still on his face. They, too, faded. “Wait,” he said.

Spencer was _ definitely _ blushing, now, but try as he might he couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t find any words. _ Just say something, play it off, say _ something _ … _

“You…” the weaponsmith’s lips parted as he studied him, confused. “Reid -”

“How’s he doing?”

Movement at the top of the steps drew Spencer’s attention, and he was endlessly grateful beyond words for that interruption to their train of thought. His heart leaped when he saw who had saved him from certain mortification. “Emily!”

“Spencer,” the commodore exclaimed, her face breaking into a relieved smile. She hurried down the steps and joined Morgan at his side - albeit still standing. “I heard you got shot. Is it bad?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said. He tactfully kept his eyes off Morgan, hoping the newcomer to the conversation would be enough to divert the attention off of himself.

It seemed to work. Morgan blinked but sent Emily a grin. “Kid’s tougher than he looks,” he said, inclining his head in Spencer’s direction.

“Hey!”

“Well, I came down once our new crew didn’t need further direction getting this ship out of the bay. We just passed the entrance without a hitch, by the way. And because the screaming stopped,” the woman said. “Good to see you’re alright.”

“It’s good to see _ you _,” he said softly. 

Her smile turned sad. “Same to you.”

“You didn’t blame yourself for me getting captured, did you?”

Emily scoffed - for a little too long, with not quite enough conviction. “Nah.”

His heart dropped. “Oh, Em, no, there was nothing you could have done back there, Cat’s men had a knife to your jugular.” He put a hand to his chest. “And look, I’m back, now! I’m fine!”

“You got shot.”

“I’m _ fine _,” he insisted, ignoring a brief pass of vertigo. “Don’t blame yourself, Emily, please.”

She sighed, shaking her head - but she was cracking a smile again. “I’m just glad you’re back,” she told him.

“Believe me, so am I.”

“Me too,” Morgan added. “We… we all really missed you, kid.”

Spencer held his gaze for as long as he dared, then glanced down at the floorboards to hide the blush that was still lingering on his cheeks.

“He’s all patched up?” More motion from the steps - Captain Garcia and someone else were descending to check up on him. The pirate captain beamed upon seeing him upright. “Oh, look at that! Boy Wonder takes a shot to the leg and he’s still conscious!”

“Boy Wonder?” he cocked one eyebrow with a grin, looking to Morgan for an explanation.

The weaponsmith just waved a hand. “You get used to it with her.”

“Yes, hi, I realize we’ve never formally met,” Garcia said, extending her hand to him. “Penelope Garcia. You can use my first name if you want, I always use first names of people I know - and I feel like I already know you, thanks to your boy Derek here.”

He edged a little further away from her outstretched hand. “Hi, I, uh… I’m not a big… handshake… person. The amount of contagions that can get transferred by hand-to-hand contact is actually kind of staggering, I… prefer not to.”

She blinked. “Oh. Okay, my… bad.”

“Yeah.” He pressed his lips together. “I’m… Spencer. By the way. Sorry.”

Garcia - _ Penelope _ \- laughed. “Oh, no worries, no worries. Derek’s told us all about the infinite bits of wisdom you’ve got stored in your brain, I could expect nothing less.”

“He did?” He looked to Morgan, who suddenly looked like he was sweating beneath his smile.

“Of course. He was _ quite _ beside himself this whole time you were in Cat’s control.”

“Now, wait a second, Babygirl, I… wouldn’t say I was _ beside _myself…”

Spencer suddenly found himself tuning out of Morgan’s denial, even interested as he was to hear just how much the weaponsmith had missed him. He tuned him out because he’d finally gotten a good look at the person who had accompanied Penelope belowdecks. 

The person who was now hovering behind her, as if unsure how to approach - with her own large, blue eyes fixed on him.

They stared at each other. 

Years may have passed, but Spencer could never forget her face.

“Jennifer,” he said quietly.

That broke whatever spell JJ had over herself. She took a step closer, then two more, until she collapsed to her knees beside him and had her arms thrown around his shoulders in the tightest embrace imaginable.

_ It really is her. Jennifer Jareau, after so, so long… _

He embraced her back and buried his face into the crook of her neck.

“Spence,” she breathed as she held him tight. “God…”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered.

“I can’t believe _ you’re _ here,” she exclaimed, finally holding him at arm’s length, her gaze flicking across his face, studying every plane, smiling with disbelief. “I missed you so much, Spence, I wanted to come back to Port Quantico and see you so badly.”

“So why didn’t you?” _ A dock. An autumn morning. Sails disappearing over the horizon… _“JJ, I missed you, too.”

“I would have gotten thrown in jail if I did,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek, his head, smoothing it over his messy hair like she couldn’t touch him enough, like she couldn’t believe he was really there in the flesh. “I got roped in with Penelope, became her first mate… I’m wanted for piracy, now.”

“All I had were your letters. For _ years _. And there were so few of them.”

“I know, I know, postal services are… spotty out on the sea. I tried my best but I _ know _it wasn’t nearly enough. I’m so, so sorry, Spence.”

He leaned into her hand and offered her a sad smile. “It’s okay,” he murmured.

“Really?”

It wasn’t, not entirely, but Spencer didn’t have the energy to hold a grudge. He _ had _just been through surgery. That had taken all the fight out of him. “All that matters right now is you’re here now,” he said, letting his mouth quirk up into a ghost of a smile. “You’re here and so am I and I’m just… I’m glad to see you again.”

She made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob and hugged him again.

Penelope was beaming. “We all good?” she asked, gesturing towards them both. “Best friends again? No hard feelings? Boy Wonder, where we at?”

“No hard feelings,” he decided, finally letting his oldest friend go. The hugs were starting to bother his leg. _ Everything _ seemed to bother his leg, now. _ Guess I’m gonna have to get used to that… _

“Oh, good! Good to hear.” The captain clapped her hands cheerfully. “I’d hate for Derek to have whisked you away from one adversary, only to throw you in with another one.”

“I don’t know if I had _ all _ that much to do with his rescue,” Morgan admitted, “Genius over here seemed to have things pretty under control when we got there.”

Emily suddenly blinked with recollection. “Oh, yeah, Spencer,” she exclaimed, “What was all this I heard from Kevin up on the deck just now? You were grappling with a pirate twice your size? I thought he said you were supposed to be tied up in the brig.”

“I was,” Spencer said. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried to organize his thoughts. “I… yes, I _ was _tied up. Cat had let me poke around the ship while we were leagues from land and I had nowhere to go, but she locked me back up once we got close to port…”

The fresh memories rushed to the surface as he forced himself to dive into an explanation despite his growing desire to just curl up and sleep. How Cat had summoned him and dangled his imminent imprisonment in front of his face as a taunt. How he’d gone to Kevin and asked him to start that fight in the streets.

After that, he’d acted quickly - but not quickly enough to draw any kind of attention. He’d made it a point to “accidentally” bump into the second mate, Lindsey, in just the right way to send the woman’s bottle of rum shattering to the floor. She’d already harbored animosity towards him, seeing as her lover had shown one form of interest or another in him - and, just as he’d expected of her, she’d exploded. Demanded he pick up every last shard of glass and encouraged him not to be delicate around the sharp edges - honestly, Spencer was relieved she didn’t run him through or shoot him right there. He’d played the part of the terrified captive - the terror wasn’t entirely a front - and scraped the mess off the boards.

And slid an especially razor-sharp shard up his sleeve once the crew had lost interest in the commotion and their backs were turned.

He told the group about how, a little later that night, he’d gotten his hands on a pinch of grain that had spilled from one of the bags in the galley, and how he’d carefully poked the little kernels deep into the tumblers of the lock on the door of his cell - deep enough not to be seen or particularly felt, but he’d made sure there were enough of them in there to disrupt the pins so the lock wouldn’t _ quite _ stay shut. His hard-won glass shard he tucked under the leg of the small bench.

And he waited.

Cat eventually did tie him up with the only restraints she had on board - spare rope, just like before. She slammed the cell door shut and left him to go revel in the streets of Keg Town with the rest of her crew - save whoever she’d assigned to keep watch. The moment most of the sounds of pirate retired to abovedecks, he’d wormed his glass shard out from under the bench and strained his fingers to scrape the razor-sharp edge against his bindings.

It had been agonizingly slow going, each minute straining to hear if someone was coming to check up on him, but no one came. Most of the crew had grown bored of having him on board the ship by then. He wasn’t as much of a spectacle anymore, now that he practically looked like one of them.

Until, at last, one of the ropes was cut enough to tear apart with his teeth. By then, a faint roar of shouting and the occasional pop of a pistol was growing outside - Kevin had come through. The integrity of the grain-filled lock had taken some effort to overcome, but Spencer overcame it. 

And he was free.

“I’d really hoped all the guards would be gone by the time I made it up to the deck,” he admitted. “Wilkins… I was not planning on. That was Cat’s first mate, who I was fighting when you guys showed up. The only thing I had on my side against that guy was surprise.”

“And a shoulder to the gut,” Penelope added.

He shrugged meekly. “I just hoped I could knock the wind out of him long enough to get out of range.”

“What would your plan have been if we hadn’t been there to pick you up?” JJ asked.

“Hide,” he said. “Get deep into Keg Town and hide somehow, wait out the storm. Maybe hop on one of the merchant vessels that dared their shores to strike a profit, hitchhike my way back to Port Quantico, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “My main goal was just to get as far away from Cat as I could.”

“And you did that,” Morgan beamed. “I knew all those brains were worth something.”

Spencer just blushed a little more down at his lap at the praise. _ From Morgan _… 

Emily nodded. “And, hey, look what you ended up with,” she said, gesturing to the group around him - herself, the weaponsmith, the first mate, the captain, and him. “Not only are you far away from Cat Adams, but you’ve got a whole crew at your back.”

“Sure sounds like a job well done to me, friends.” Penelope gave him a wink, her hands on her hips with satisfaction and pride. “Welcome to the crew, Spencer Reid. Been saving a spot among us just for you.”

The words resonated with him, and he couldn’t stop beaming. 

It really sank in, then, at that moment. He’d really gotten free of Cat. Really escaped the _ Black Queen _. She couldn’t hurt him or taunt him or use him as leverage ever again.

That nightmare was finally, finally over.

And he was safe among friends and protectors at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I got my medical procedure research from other fics set in this general time period so if it's not 100% accurate I do apologize lol)
> 
> Nothing like a little sexual tension while trying to patch up your crush's mortal wounds... but now, where to go from here?


	10. The First Mate

JJ was up on the deck early enough to see the sun rise the next morning. The sky was a bright scarlet in the east, sunlight glimmering across the clear teal of the ocean. The wind was in the sails, the sea parting around the hull of the ship in white spray.

Most of the crew had claimed hammocks belowdecks, and were still asleep - save for the commodore, who had manned the helm for the second half of their night of sailing and was still there. Spence had claimed himself two hammocks, side by side, the second for his injured leg to keep it relatively immobilized from the rest of his body so he didn’t roll over on it and shock himself awake from the pain.

JJ couldn’t argue with that. And they had hammocks to spare.

The only heading they’d been following since their flight from Keg Town was simply,  _ away _ \- staying far from any islands or ports that might note their location and possibly allow Cat to track them down before they were ready for another encounter. 

She’d woken up entirely too early but couldn’t seem to fall back asleep - too many things were demanding her attention in her mind. Cat. The  _ Black Queen _ . Spencer.  _ Rosaline’s _ . 

So she climbed to the deck to watch the sun rise. And to settle some of those thoughts.

Movement caught her eye as the blue began to overtake the other ruby and amethyst hues in the morning sky, and she turned her head to see the hatch swing open and a head of long, blonde waves pop up from the staircase. Penelope caught the high heel of her boot on the lip and staggered, hissing but eventually regaining her balance with a few waves of her arms.

JJ couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the familiar face. “What are you doing up?” she called, sliding her hands together on the red rails to turn more fully towards her.

Penelope blinked, suddenly realizing she wasn’t alone on the deck. “Oh,” she chirped. “You’re here.”

“I am.”

“Well, good morning,” she beamed. She reached her hands upwards in a stretch and held it there before joining JJ on the rail. “How come you’re up so early? I seem to recall my first mate  _ routinely _ oversleeping back on the  _ Queen _ .”

JJ huffed a laugh, but it was gone in a moment. “It was… a hectic night,” was all she said, shaking her head.

“I know.” She glanced her way. “But… I kind of get it. And… being reunited with a childhood friend after years with nothing but the occasional letter was probably especially emotionally draining, huh.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

Penelope looked down at her hands. “So… what exactly happened between you and him? Why the separation?” she asked.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m okay with long stories.”

JJ just shrugged. “Our families were very close, back on the mainland,” she explained. “My parents ran a merchant company, his had status thanks to relation to Jason Gideon by marriage, so we bonded over being the only two kids our age at every fancy dinner and gala. We were practically inseparable.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” she said softly.

“It was. Those were good times.” Her smile fell as she pushed on. “But then… his mother had never been quite  _ right  _ in the mind, and her paranoid episodes got more and more frequent. His dad up and left the two of them shortly afterwards. Spence…” she shook her head, thinking back to those anxious years. “He did his best to take care of her, he really did. He was young, but he was educated and eloquent enough to step in during important discussions about the estate and the state of their finances. He catered to her needs, read everything on her condition he could get his hands on. Really did his best for a long time. Years. But in the end… he was still just a kid, barely even a teenager by that point, and what his mother needed was professional assistance. So… she went to a hospital for the mentally ill, and Spence was put on a ship to Port Quantico to be raised by his uncle.”

“And you went with him?”

She shrugged. “This was… a few years after Rosaline died. My family had been thinking about relocating to the archipelago to be closer to the merchant business for a while, and it seemed like as good a time as any to go. So we did. And, well… I was getting pretty sick of the drudgery of mainland life myself, cooped up in a manor all day, being reminded of Ros everywhere I turned. I wanted to see the world, go on adventures, that sort of thing.”

“Aha,” Penelope grinned, “I was wondering when the Jennifer Jareau I know and love would make an appearance in this tale.”

“Yep, this is about when she’s born,” JJ smiled with a flick of her eyebrows. “Of course, I didn’t realize that island life would be almost exactly the same as mainland life. The manors were the same, the governesses were the same. My parents’ arguments were the same. My pain about my sister was marginally eased, but mostly the same. All that changed, really, was the view out my windows. And when I saw that sea, all those boats… God, but did I want to just hop on one and chase that horizon forever.” She tipped her head to one side with an exasperated look. “And, you know… get away from all the men who were starting to get interested in marrying me.”

The captain winced, sucking air through pursed lips. “Were any of them cute, at least?” she hedged.

“Considering that most were almost twice my age, I was not interested in them at all, no.”

“Yeesh.”

“So I did have a bit of a time crunch for getting myself out of Port Quantico,” she said. “I just couldn’t stay there. So one day, I dressed myself in my plainest clothes, stole some money from my family’s funds, and bartered myself onto a sailor’s crew. I was gone by sunset and I never looked back.”

_ But I left Spence behind. _

“Maybe it wasn’t the best thing for him, though,” she murmured to herself.

“Did you say goodbye, at least?”

“Oh, of course, he was the only one I told. The only one I trusted to tell, to, you know… understand, maybe.”

“And how’d he take it?”

JJ sighed. “I think I broke his heart a little,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to leave him, that wasn’t my goal at all. I  _ asked _ him to come with me, explore the world, see it for himself… but he had just begun to get used to his new life in the governor’s manor, and he loved his uncle too much to just up and leave. Also… he didn’t have the wedding pressure just yet, so he…  _ couldn’t _ understand my rush.”

Penelope frowned, turning over everything that had been said. “Well… do you think you would have been happier if you stayed?” she asked. 

_ If I stayed. Would I have been happier?  _ She let herself think about what her life would have looked like by this point in her life.  _ I’d have been married off. Rich, definitely rich and definitely still living the high life among the Port Quantico elite. I’d have Spence, but that… that would have been my only source of joy, really. _

_ I would have never met Will. Or Penelope. Probably would have never figured out I could be interested women the same way I’m interested in men at all.  _

_ And I would have never known the freedom of the open ocean. _

Her head was shaking before her answer had even formed in her mind. “I don’t think so,” she whispered.

“Then I don’t think this is something worth waking up early to worry about, J,” she said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You went where you could be happiest, and Spencer went where  _ he  _ could be happiest - but those two paths just didn’t cross. That’s all that is.”

“But I hurt him,” she couldn’t help fretting. 

Penelope angled her head down at the hatch. “He’s Boy Wonder. He just got shot in the leg and still managed to crack a smile two seconds after surgery.” She rubbed her thumb over her arm and let her go again. “He’s a tough kid. He’ll heal up quick - and he’ll heal from you leaving him behind to chase your dreams, too. I think he’s smart enough to understand that’s what happened. It’s not like you cut yourself off from him entirely.”

“I know, I know, and I can see that, but… all I  _ know  _ about the person he is today is from his letters. What if I don’t know him anymore? I mean, the Spencer I left in Port Quantico would have  _ never _ come up with such a risky plan to get himself out of a dangerous situation like the one he was talking about last night.”

“Well, I dunno about that one,” the captain admitted, lifting her palms. “People do risky stuff when their lives are in danger. Honestly, I’m kinda proud of him - I know I don’t know the guy like you do, but for a wealthy land noble who’s probably never seen a hint of real combat in his life, let alone been at the center of a high-stakes hostage situation… I’d say he handled himself as well as any sailor on these waters.”

JJ couldn’t deny that. There was a certain familiar air to him as her friend had elaborated his scheme, but it wasn’t one she recognized from their childhood - his plan had almost reminded her of the sweeping adventures that sailors often brought home to  _ Rosaline _ ’s. Tales of grand escapes, daring battles on the high seas… and piracy.

_ His capture  _ has  _ changed him a bit, given him a hint of a pirate’s edge out of necessity to survive… but he’s still Spence. And Penelope’s right, it’s not like we were cut off entirely for years on end. I do still know him, and he’s still my friend. _

_ Friends as inseparable as the two of us can’t be split apart that easily. _

Penelope followed her gaze out onto the horizon. “You know,” she said, “Now that we’re on the topic, I think I  _ do  _ recall you mentioning that you had a friend back in Port Quantico.”

JJ glanced her way. “Really?”

“It had to be years ago, when we first met.” She smirked. “Some mystery boy you kept penning long letters to by candlelight.  _ I  _ thought he was going to end up as competition for your affections - a pining beau waiting desperately for your eventual return.”

“Who, Spence?” She broke into a smile against her will. “Nah, he’s too much of a best friend for any of that,” she assured her. “Don’t worry, you had  _ nothing  _ to worry about. My heart was entirely yours those first couple years there.”

“Aww, stop it, you.” She elbowed her gently. 

JJ found herself smiling, too. 

Penelope, satisfied that she’d done her part to cheer her up, pushed off the rails and shaded her eyes up at the woman at the helm. “Morning, Emily!” she called.

“Morning,” was the reply.

“How was sailing last night?”

Prentiss flicked her eyebrows in a shrug. “I’ve sailed worse. Though I’m not too excited about the look of that sunrise,” she added. “Red skies in the morning, and all that.”

“I noticed that too.” JJ quirked her mouth to the side in agreement.

“We’re heading in a generally southern direction for the time being, but I was hoping that you two had an idea of where we could actually  _ go _ in the event that the sailing gets rougher. You wouldn’t by chance happen to have a real heading for me…?”

Penelope made a hesitant sound. “Not at the moment - oh, but that reminds me!  _ That’s  _ what I wanted to do this morning,” the captain said, making a fist and pounding it down into her palm.

“What, give me a heading?” Prentiss smirked.

“No, no - I mean maybe. Possibly.” Penelope held up a finger. “You just… you wait right there, I’ll call up an emergency meeting and get the whole crew up here.” 

“It can’t be past eight, they’re all asleep,” JJ frowned as her captain spun and scurried back to the hatch. 

“Didn’t seem to be a problem for you, and you were the one I was really worried about,” was all the response she got before Penelope disappeared belowdecks.

JJ caught Prentiss’s gaze and shrugged. Prentiss cracked a smile.

It took awhile for the crew to be roused from their sleep, and even longer for them all to assemble on the deck. They weren’t in any kind of hurry, luckily. Spencer and Morgan were the last to show up, the latter helping the former scale the steps. JJ took her friend’s hand and eased him up the final bit. He immediately collapsed on the nearest crate with a wince, and the weaponsmith took up a dutiful position by his side.

Spence, from his spot, may have been unable to see how the weaponsmith’s soft, watchful gaze never left him… but JJ certainly didn’t miss it.

“Okay,” Penelope said, pressing her palms together and surveying the group, which had assembled in a loose circle around her. “Is everyone here? Where’s - oh, JJ, you’re right there. Emily, come on down, you’re part of this discussion, too.”

“I am?” came the voice from the helm.

“Yes, of course you are. I would actually like your input on this first order of business.” She waved the commodore down, and the woman took up a spot beside Morgan. Arms crossed but relaxed, her head tipping to the side with one eyebrow raised.

“So,” said the captain, pointing the tips of her pressed-together fingers in her direction, “First things first, before we even do anything, I wanted to speak to  _ you _ , the three non-pirates on this ship right now - Emily, Derek, Spencer.”

“About what?” Morgan smirked a little. “Kicking us off already, Babygirl?”

“Not necessarily, that bit is… more up to you, actually,” she explained, running a hand over her curls. “The rest of us gathered right now are pirates, through and through, scourges of the seas, wanted for some crime or another, all that. But you three aren’t. You’re really only here because you were roped into this situation for one reason or another.”

Prentiss’ mouth quirked to the side as she sent a flick of the eyes Morgan’s way. Spencer looked down at his injured leg but said nothing.

“So what I’m saying is… you’re free to go.” 

All three of their gazes snapped to the captain, their attention now rapt.

She went on. “Port Quantico isn’t too far out of our way, we can still swing back and drop you on a nearby island - we can’t sail _ into _ the bay with the present company, of course, but we can get you close enough. Then Spencer, you can get yourself properly stitched up so you can return home to your uncle. Derek, your forge is probably waiting for you back in town. And Emily, you can go back to ruling the seas as commodore and hunting down us pirate types. The rest of us can continue on our way.”

“With what ship?” Prentiss narrowed her eyes.

Penelope blinked. “What?”

“The  _ Redwing _ is  _ my  _ ship,” she reminded them. “If you drop us off, you’re marooning yourselves without a vessel.”

JJ and Penelope shared a glance, the captain pressing her lips together. They’d both overlooked the small detail that the only ship in their possession right now was still technically a stolen military ship. And under the control of the commodore.

“Mind donating to the cause?” Penelope hazarded with a weak smile.

Prentiss snorted - but she smirked a bit, too. “Not a chance,” she said. “Wherever this ship goes, I go, too. You’re stuck with me - especially if you’re sailing this ship into battle with the  _ Queen _ .”

“Oh, good,” she sighed. “Well, I guess that’s a ‘Staying’ from you, then. That’s good, you’re an asset to the crew.”

“That, and you know that if I  _ did _ decide to bail, I’d be bringing down the wrath of the navy on both your head  _ and  _ Cat’s.”

“There is that,” she nodded cheerfully.

Prentiss just shrugged. “This is the best shot I stand to taking down one of the biggest rising pirate threats in the archipelago - not to mention show her what happens when she messes with the people I care about. I figure I can do my job from the helm of a pirate ship just as easily as I can from the helm of the  _ Profiler _ .”

“You’re hired.”

“Great.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow at the remaining men. “Chocolate Thunder? How about you? Feel like taking a slight detour before heading back to that forge of yours?”

Spencer looked up at Morgan from his spot on the crate - somewhat reminiscent of a small puppy, in JJ’s opinion. He’d always been good at that look. She wondered if he was even aware that he was using it now.

Morgan only had to meet Spencer’s eyes for a second before he snapped his chin up to answer Penelope’s question, the tendons standing out a little stronger in his neck.  _ He looks flustered _ . “Yeah,” he said with a shake of his head. “There are other smiths in Port Quantico. Right now, there’s a pirate captain somewhere out on these waters, and I’ve got a serious bone to pick with her. I ain’t going anywhere, Babygirl.”

The smallest of smiles brushed Spencer’s lips as he gazed up at the weaponsmith, with his dark arms crossed and his expression firm.

JJ narrowed her eyes just a little at her friend.  _ Could that be, dare I say, adoration? _

“Boy Wonder?”

He blinked. Then shrugged, curving his shoulders in. “Well, seeing as I can’t really  _ go _ anywhere on my own right now,” he said, “I guess I can stick around for a little longer. And I’d like to see Cat thrown behind bars, too.”

“Perfect! Oh, this is so good.” Penelope was absolutely beaming. “Okay. Well, I guess, next order of business, now that  _ I  _ know for sure who’s in the crew, is to make sure all of  _ you _ know who’s in the crew. Our flight from Keg Town was a  _ mite _ hectic, but have there been any introductions… made? At all?”

Everyone looked sideways at each other. JJ and Penelope knew all of the men and women gathered, having run into all of them at one point or another, but very few of them had they seen in the same place as one another.

The captain nodded. “Right. Well, now’s as good a time as any. Who wants to go first?”

“Go first?” A tall, dark-skinned woman asked, tipping her head to the side.

“For introductions,” Penelope said, gesturing around at everyone with a smile. “You all know JJ and me, of course. I just hope everyone on my crew can be on a first-name basis with everyone else. Just keeps things friendly and positive.”

“I’m sorry, on  _ whose _ crew?” Prentiss piped up.

“ _ Your _ ship,  _ my  _ crew of lawbreakers, Emily,” she countered cheerily. The commodore flicked her eyebrows but didn’t argue further. 

_ Right _ , JJ thought to herself.  _ Maybe I should start referring to everyone by first names. Penelope and Spence, those are easy… Derek Morgan. Derek. And Prentiss… is just Emily. Not Commodore, not Prentiss. _

_ Emily. _

“Anyway,” the captain continued, “Tara? Since you spoke first, feel like starting?”

The woman from before shrugged. “I guess. My name is Tara Lewis,” she said, addressing the entire crew. “Formerly an interrogator in the Port Quantico navy. My interest in pirating and the society built around it was sparked during an interview with a pirate one day, and that’s how I found myself in Keg Town for the first time.” She put her hands on her hips. “I know my way around ships like the back of my hand, anything that needs doing around here I can do.”

The two men beside her nodded, then the taller - black hair covered by a tied bandanna, almond-shaped eyes - addressed the rest of the group next. “Matt Simmons,” he said, dipping his chin with a slight lift of the eyebrows. “My old crew of many years recently broke apart, and I’ve been looking for another ship to sail for a while, now. I was a gunman.”

“And I’m Luke Alvez,” his friend added as he jerked his broad chin a little higher. “I was on that same old crew as Matt, and I’m also an artillery specialist.”

“And aren’t you glad I came to tell you someone was in the market?” JJ smirked at the men.

“Well, I almost got my eardrums blown out as you dragged us through the fighting in the streets last night,” Luke smirked right back, “But I guess it is nice to be back on the seas, blowing holes into ships.”

“And what do you say?”

He rolled his eyes. “ _ Thank you _ , JJ.”

“Alright, alright, enough out of you,” Penelope said, waving her hands between them. “Leave my first mate alone to gather intel in a town two years ago, and she walks out two weeks later with a best friend. Sheesh. Newbie.”

“Hey!”

“Who’s next?”

A short, wide-hipped woman with short, dark hair in loose curls lifted her hand. “Guess that’s me,” she said. “Hey, everyone. I’m Kate Callahan.”

“Hi, Kate,” Penelope beamed.

“Hi, Penelope,” she beamed back.

JJ scoffed lightheartedly. “Now who’s the one with the new best friend?”

“Oh, shush. You know I’ve known Kate my whole life. A fellow pirate from birth,” she said, waving a hand. 

“I’m just teasing,” JJ elbowed her back with a grin. “I picked her to be our boatswain just for you.”

Kate smiled. “I was raised a sailor,” she explained. “Looking forward to sailing with you all - and keeping you in line. And this is a really nice ship, too… Emily, right? It’s yours?”

“It is,” the woman in question blinked.

“It’s one of the nicest I’ve ever had the privilege to sail,” she said. 

“Oh. Well… thank you, I like it too.”

The rest of the crew introduced themselves in turn, names and backgrounds flickering by to accompany faces and voices. Jordan Todd. Ashley Seaver. Kevin Lynch. Spence, Derek, and Emily also gave brief introductions as well, but they didn’t go into as much detail, seeing as they had been the ones who were thrust into the spotlight early into the meeting.

“Is that everyone, then?” Penelope asked. At JJ’s confirmation, she nodded cheerily. “Good! Just wanted to get that out of the way. Welcome, everyone, to the  _ Redwing _ . Now… back to whatever you were doing, I suppose.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “Go, I won’t keep you any longer.”

Spencer looked at the hatch in the deck, then down at his leg, and sighed while the crew began to disband, chattering amongst themselves.

Emily pulled Penelope aside, and JJ went with them with her eyes narrowed. Her instincts still prompted her to act with caution around the commodore, even though she felt markedly more comfortable around her than she had initially.

“Can I get a heading now?” the woman asked - not unkindly, but there was an edge of impatience hiding between her words. 

“Away from Keg Town,” Penelope said, but her eyes flicked to JJ.  _ Help me. _

“I think we’ve accomplished that well enough,” Emily said. “Cat Adams is out somewhere on these waters and we have no idea where - and that’s not even mentioning the increased naval presence out here. Is there a… a secret cove, or something? Somewhere we can go, where we know we aren’t going to be snuck up on in an ambush? Because I don’t think any of us are equipped for a full-on battle after the fiasco in town.”

“It wasn’t so much of a  _ fiasco _ as more of a  _ commonplace hazard _ in that town -”

“Gar -  _ Penelope _ .” She shook her head the slightest bit, allowing her loose locks to sway a little. Her eyes were firm - but she wasn’t hiding the vulnerability there quite as vehemently anymore. “I just want to know where to sail my ship.”

JJ’s heart ached a little at Emily’s words as both she and Penelope searched for a properly satisfactory answer. Her vulnerability… she might have decided to stick with her ship, but she was still a fish out of water, so to speak. What she was engaging in was borderline piracy, and the commodore… just wasn’t used to it.

Yet.

But JJ was, and an idea was forming in her mind - both to keep the crew’s best interests in mind, and Emily’s. What the woman needed most right now was stability. And a chance to adjust to the new situation she’d been thrust into.

JJ could give her what she sought, there.

“We could drop in with  _ her _ ,” she murmured to Penelope. 

The captain flicked her gaze to JJ’s, and Emily furrowed her brows. “Her?” she asked.

But Penelope was already nodding, considering the possibilities in her mind. “We could,” she said.

“Who are we going to drop in to see?”

“A longtime ally of the pirates in these parts,” JJ explained. “She used to be one of us, but she… dabbles in things even some pirates find unnerving.”

“What… kind of things?”

“ _ Supernatural _ things,” Penelope said with a conspiratory grin. “Witchcraft.”

Emily blinked. “She’s… a witch?”

“She’s perfectly harmless to people who know her - and don’t worry, Penelope and I have known her for a long time,” JJ said. “She amassed a small following of witches like her, outcasts from every society, and they have a niche community on an island… it’s not far from here, actually, isn’t it.”

“Oh, only a week or so,” Penelope nodded. 

“Give or take a few days, from the look of that sunrise,” JJ reminded her. She tipped her chin in the direction of the horizon - blue clouds had begun to distinguish themselves from the morning sky above the sea in an ever-expanding line.

“Right,” the captain said, clenching her fingers into a nervous fist as she surveyed the front of impending clouds. “We’ll probably have to sail through… all of that over there. But it’s a good idea, JJ.”

“And what can a… a witch do for us?” Emily didn’t look convinced of the idea’s subjective  _ goodness _ .

“Her island has some light wards around it to keep sailors from accidentally wandering too close,” JJ said. “We can anchor the ship just offshore, and she’ll let us rest safely out of the way of prying eyes. She can also keep an eye on Cat’s exact whereabouts with scrying - that’ll be good for us once we’re all rested and ready to take her on once and for all.”

“She also has supplies stockpiled,” Penelope added. “General supplies… Water…” Emily was still looking wary, so the captain tipped her head in her direction with a knowing look. “Gunpowder and weapons.”

She sighed through her nose. “Alright. Fine. How do I get to this island of witches?”

JJ and her captain exchanged victorious smirks.  _ The lure of combat preparedness. _ “Just keep going in the direction you’re going, Em,” Penelope chirped. “Any questions, and JJ or I will be happy to assist. Right, J?”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. She surprised herself a little, then, because the smile… wasn’t faked at all. And she meant her every word.

“Okay.” Emily nodded. “So… does this island even have a name? I’m surprised I haven’t heard of a safe haven for witches anywhere in the archipelago. Seems like something my superiors on the mainland would have asked me to root out by now.”

“Well, she certainly did a good job of hiding it, then, if the commodore doesn’t even know,” Penelope said. “But yes, it does have a name.  _ Her _ name, actually.”

JJ nodded. “Greenaway.”


	11. Miss .45

Cat stood on the deck of the  _ Black Queen _ , silently staring at the scene, her first mate dead on the bloodstained boards before her. The color matched the violent reds in the morning sky above her.

She didn’t even need Lindsey to tell her about the state belowdecks when she slunk up the steps. She already knew what her second mate had found there.

“He’s gone,” she said.

But God-rutting- _ damn _ , did it piss her off to hear the words said out loud. Cat swore, snarling.

“The men searched the town, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

“Of course he isn’t. Rich brat must have jumped on the first ship out of this shithole and put us to his rudder. He’s too smart to stick around.”  _ Hell. Fresh, rutting hell. I should have never left him alone. I should have known he’d pull something like this.  _

_ I was too rutting arrogant to fully comprehend the intellect of my prisoner, and now he’s rutting gone. _

Lindsey ground her jaw. “What do we do? We don’t have a bargaining chip anymore.”

“Not like it would have mattered,” Cat growled back. “I heard nothing about the governor reaching out to pay the ransom yet. All I’ve heard is that they’ve doubled the number of naval ships on the seas.”

Lindsey swore.

_ My thoughts exactly, love. _

Cat turned sharply on her heel to address the rest of her crew, who she’d corralled down on the dock beside the gangplank. She braced both hands on the rails and glowered down at them. They were a chaotic bunch, the men she’d assembled under her - the only way to keep her control was through fear. 

Fear didn’t work if the captain admitted that things were her fault. Blame had to be focused elsewhere.

_ But even fear of a single captain couldn’t contain the anarchy of a full-blown Keg Town war. _

_ And because of that anarchy, I’m left with nothing.  _

“I want every last one of you sorry excuses for crewmates back on this rutting ship,” she demanded, her voice cutting through the red daylight. “Prove to me that you’re actually capable of making yourselves  _ useful _ , for once. Heave to and hoist the anchor - and someone better scrape this bloody mess off my deck.”

“Where are we going, Captain?” one of her crew had the gall to ask.

“ _ Does that sound like any of your rutting business, you ingrate? _ ” she snapped as her knuckles whitened against the rails. “Do what I  _ rutting  _ tell you. Now  _ move it _ , all of you. I don’t have time to sit here trading pleasantries with a pack of useless whelps.”

The men on the dock grumbled but began trailing up the gangplank. Ropes and pulleys creaked as they set about doing their jobs.

“Captain.”

Fury seethed deep in Cat’s chest as she rounded on the male voice that had approached her. “ _ What _ part of “ _ Get to rutting work” _ are you  _ too stupid _ to understand?” she snarled.

The pirate’s gaze kept steady. From the looks of it, he’d been caught up pretty badly in the fighting last night - bloodstained makeshift bandages were wrapped around his calf. Cat noted with passing interest that he was alone - usually, she’d seen this particular man in the company of another member of her crew. Perhaps his friend had succumbed to the streets.

“The navigator,” the pirate growled. “The shrimp from the first crew.”

“What about him.” Cat crossed her arms. 

“He deserted, Captain. He was the one who started the whole brawl. Shot me and ran.”

She worked her jaw. She remembered her navigator -  _ Kevin _ , that was his name. Eyeglasses and messy hair. One of Garcia’s.  _ So he deserted. Betrayed the crew. _

She really didn’t need this kind of setback right now. He was a coward, but he wasn’t a half-bad navigator.  _ God-rutting-damn it. _

“And?” she demanded. “You shot him back, didn’t you? He’s dead?”

The man hesitated, and Cat only scowled harder. “Didn’t get a chance to, Captain,” he grumbled. The pirate glanced around to see who was within earshot - then leaned in. “ _ She _ was here. Garcia.”

Cat’s insides turned to ice. 

Violently, she schooled her features not to reveal a single emotion. “Impossible,” she said flatly.  _ I got her captured. I watched them load Garcia onto the ship. I watched the commodore sail away. She’s locked up. She should be slated for hanging any day now.  _

_ If she was in Keg Town, then that not only means she’s not going to be executed, but it means she has access to the transportation that got her from Port Quantico to here…  _

But the pirate just shook his head. “It was her, bright and garish as ever. Jareau, too. She had me down in a second and I wasn’t able to even draw breath for a long time afterwards. The navigator made a beeline for their group right after he shot me.”

She didn’t want to believe him, but she knew she had to. Penelope Garcia was not an easy person to miss in a crowd - not to mention, Jareau was renowned for her combat skills. Not even this imbecile was fool enough to mistake them. “Did you,” she fumed, “At least  _ manage _ to get a  _ hint  _ of where they are now.”

“They ran,” he said. “Scattered.”

“How many other were there.”

“Two others, Captain, not counting the navigator who joined them. A woman in their company shot my partner in the shoulder, and he bled out. I couldn’t see much from where I’d fallen myself, but it sounded like the group made for the docks.”

_ No doubt to hop onto whatever ship she’d commandeered for herself.  _

He wasn’t done. “And I heard them talk about the prisoner before they left, as well,” he murmured. “The name ‘Reid’ came up rather frequently in their talk. Methinks they had some part in getting him free.”

Cat drew in a long breath through her nose and let it out carefully. Garcia was back. She had a ship, and, from the sound of it, the makings of a crew. If Jareau was with them, there was no doubt in her mind that she would gather even more allies to her. And they clearly wanted Spencer - whether to save him from her, or to use him for their own gain. Most likely the latter. It’s what she would have done in Garcia’s place.

So. Her bargaining chip had jumped ship out from under her nose, and now Garcia was back with  _ her _ captive on board.

And she would no doubt be coming after her.

Her current situation really, really made her want to shoot something.

_ Rutting hell. _

She turned a vicious, thin-lipped smile onto the pirate before her. “Where’s that gunner I stuck up here on guard duty with Wilkins last night? Did he die somewhere yet?”

“He’s over there bothering the riggers,” Lindsey answered for him, angling her head in the direction of a group of the crew.

“Did see him in town throwing his fair share of punches last night,” the pirate grunted. “Don’t know his name.”

“Good. Neither do I.” Cat couldn’t help but smirk to herself as she pulled her pistol from her belt and held it casually, loosely, and strode across the deck to the gunner in question.

“You. On the dock. Now.”

The man blinked. His throat bobbed weakly, but Cat was already stalking to the gangplank. His clumsy boots followed her.

When he hit the dock, she immediately rounded on him, letting her pistol dangle conspicuously in her hand by her side as she glared at him. “I seem to recall that I gave you a job last night, gunner.”

He swallowed again. “Th-that you did, Captain.”

“Then why did I hear that you abandoned your post to go beat up innocent strangers in town last night?” She went on before he could attempt to wheedle his way out of this one. Every drop of venom that was coursing through her body, she directed squarely at him. She needed a scapegoat. She  _ needed  _ to take it out on someone else. “Do you even know why you were at that post in the first place?”

“I -”

“To make sure that the  _ smartass  _ in the brig didn’t get any ideas about trying to jump ship. Do you know where that same smartass is now? Gone. Vanished to the winds. Because  _ someone _ left Wilkins alone on deck to go carousing through town.” She took a dangerous step closer to him. “And now, Wilkins is dead and  _ I  _ don’t have a bargaining chip.”

“C-Captain, I’m -”

“He was going to make us rich, gunner,” she explained. “That man was worth a lot of money to me. And since you played a hand in letting him escape, the way I see it, that makes you a  _ thief _ .”

He blanched as his eyes flicked to the pistol in her ever-tightening hand as he realized where things were heading for him. “I-I never wanted to steal from you, Captain,” he blubbered for his life. “Honest! It was a mistake! It won’t happen again!”

“I know,” she said. “Do a better job of following your goddamn orders next time.”

The pirate stilled, his eyes round. His mouth gaped like a fish for a moment as he processed her words. “You… you mean… my next shift on guard duty?” he squeaked, his eyes flickering with hope.

Cat just sent him a smirk that she knew would tamp out that flicker in an instant. “No,” she said matter-of-factly. “Your next life.”

And then she stuck her pistol in his face and sent a .45 caliber bullet between his eyes.

His body toppled over the edge of the dock. He hit the water with a splash.

Cat glowered down at the blood rapidly coloring the water for a moment longer before striding right back up the gangplank. A .45 caliber bullet - the only one she ever fired. They didn’t call her Miss .45 for no reason.

And there would be  _ no  _ tolerance for incompetence on Miss .45’s ship from then on out.

Lindsey, who had kept an eye on the scene from above with her own pistol ready, holstered her weapon and put her hands on her hips. “Heading, Captain?” she asked.

“Anywhere with supplies,” Cat replied. “Preferably, those of the artillery and martial variety. I think it’s about time we took this crew on a good old fashioned raid. Garcia’s got a ship on these waters, and I want to blow it to smithereens - along with her and her godforsaken crew. Make it happen, First Mate Vaughan.”

Her lover raised an eyebrow - but this was no small surprise to her. Wilkins was dead. A promotion had been long overdue. “Aye, Captain.”

Cat smiled. Miss .45  _ would  _ be the terror of the archipelago. She would see to that.

And to do that, her competition needed to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, but never fear! The Isle of Greenaway awaits...


	12. Greenaway

Sailing through the storm on the way to the Isle of Greenaway was… strenuous.

The line of clouds that JJ had spotted marched steadily across the sea. The wind picked up rapidly, darkening the growing waves and flecking them with bone-white spray. Emily kept the sails down for as long as she dared, trying to coax as much distance from them as she could - the storm would no doubt push them off course to some degree or another. Only when each gust began to feel like a slap to the face and the black clouds overhead began to spit on the deck did she give the order to secure the sails.

Penelope would have never waited that long if it had been her sailing the _Black Queen_, but the _Redwing_ _was _Emily’s ship, and she retained the final authority over its functions. It was all hands on deck to protect the sails from the ripping winds. 

Penelope even managed to wrest Derek away from Spencer’s side to get him to help, and she considered that a feat in and of itself. Ever since he’d carried the governor’s nephew all the way across the docks of Keg Town, the weaponsmith had taken it upon himself to become his personal bodyguard. Helping him walk wherever he needed to go with his injured leg. Keeping an eye on the stitches and bandages, and replacing the latter whenever necessary. He refused to leave his side.

Spencer didn’t seem to mind the constant company - in fact, he seemed to enjoy it. From the way Derek had spoken of him, he’d made it sound like his own affection was one-sided. Penelope had half expected that the governor’s nephew would only regard him with the mild indifference reserved for casual acquaintances, but there was none of that on his face whenever Derek was around. He let the weaponsmith fuss over him. Let himself play the wounded bird, just so his self-declared bodyguard would have a valid reason to stick around.

Penelope was growing more and more convinced that her hunch about the _ curiously _convenient gaps in his otherwise-impeccable memory regarding all those commissioned swords… had been very, very accurate.

It was terribly entertaining to watch them both play it down like it wasn’t, though.

Except when the sails were tearing free of their knots in the downpour, and a sopping-wet Penelope had to holler down the hatch for Derek and his muscles. It was not so entertaining then. Penelope took to being wet just about as well as Sergio did.

Sergio had sought refuge from the rain Spencer’s lap, nice and dry in the hull, and that was where he remained once Penelope’s screeching finally pried Derek away to help tie down the ship with the rest of the crew.

The worst of the storm raged all that day, and the Redwing could do very little other than bob like a cork at the mercy of the waves. Dripping wet in the navigation room in the forecastle, Kevin notified Emily, Penelope, JJ, and Derek that given their location at the onset of the storm, they would be hard-pressed to be cast anywhere near the nearest reefs, shoals, or islands. That was a relief, but it didn’t ease the tension belowdecks when the only thing left to do as the storm raged on was either assist Emily at the helm or keep themselves stowed well out of her way.

The storm set everyone at least a little bit on edge. At dinner, Spencer had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, seeing as he was the only one at the long table that wasn’t in the process of drying off after being soaked to the bone all day.

The storm eased up a bit in the following days, but the rain never quite went away. The decks were swabbed to keep the saltwater from building up and corroding the planks. Midway through the second day, Emily deemed the wind relatively calm enough to unfurl at least a few of the sails, and try to regain their course. 

JJ offered to take over the helm for a bit. Emily reluctantly relinquished the duty after much convincing, and then she immediately passed out in the captain’s quarters. She hadn’t slept since Keg Town.

And Penelope knew she was loath to show it, but Emily was still sporting a bullet wound in her arm. Grappling with the helm for days on end had no doubt aggravated it.

Everyone let Emily sleep.

For the following week, the helm passed between JJ, Penelope, Emily, and Tara as they rode out the final lingering clusters of rainfall and wind. They skirted islands and shoals whenever they cropped up. 

At a few points, Ashley Seaver in the crow’s nest spotted naval ships in the distance, and the _ Redwing _ was quick to avoid them. Patrols had definitely increased since the kidnapping of the governor’s nephew. The sooner the band of pirates got off the seas, the better.

Penelope often invited Derek up to shadow her as she steered the ship, and she passed on some of her favorite little tips regarding sailing, steering, and navigation onto him as they went - along with a fair amount of banter.

Somewhere around the fourth day or so, Spencer got sick of being cooped up belowdecks, so he got Derek to bring him to the helm and learn from Penelope alongside him. To their surprise, the governor’s nephew already seemed to know everything Penelope told them - he even threw in his own bits of trivia and seafaring knowledge from time to time. He admitted that he’d never sailed before, but he’d helped Kevin out during his time on the _ Queen _and had read so many books he basically knew the practical application anyway.

Penelope didn’t miss the look of downright adoration that flickered across Derek’s face every single time Spencer chimed in with a new fact.

Spencer, on the other hand, did. Or at least he tried to make it look like he did.

Like she said. _ Endlessly _entertaining.

* * *

Greenaway rose from the horizon about a week and a half after they left Keg Town.

The _ Redwing _, they anchored just offshore in the crystal-clear teal waves. The boats were deployed so that the whole crew could row to the little tropical island itself.

Well, the whole crew… save for one.

Spencer put up a resistance when Emily suggested that he stay behind. “You said this witch village is upriver,” he exclaimed. “You guys are gonna have to take the boats all the way up there anyway! All I’d be doing is sitting in a boat the whole time! I’ll stay out of your way, I promise!”

“And how are you getting _ into _ the boat in the first place?” Emily asked, gentle but stern in her words. “Climbing down the side of the ship?”

“_ You’re _ going to, and _ you’ve _got a bullet through your arm, too.”

“No, that’s different, my injury is nowhere near as serious as yours -”

“You wince whenever you grab something with that arm, I’ve seen you.”

“Okay. Look.” She shook her head. “I hear you. I really do, Spencer, and I’m sorry, but my injury doesn’t bother me all that much. Really. It twinges a bit, sure, but at least I can _ use _the arm. You can’t put weight on your leg at all right now.”

“I could do it,” he tried to insist again. His voice weakened, though - he knew she was right. He couldn’t. He’d barely managed to take a single step without the aid of his crutch before toppling over in agony. There was just no way he could climb hand over hand all the way down the side of the ship to the vessels below.

And he knew it.

But that didn’t stop him from trying to resist that inescapable truth nevertheless.

“Morgan can carry me,” he suggested, turning pleading eyes to the weaponsmith. “Right?”

But Derek was shaking his head - and he made it look like the most painful thing on earth. “Not down the side of a ship, kid. I’m sorry. I can’t guarantee we both won’t go toppling into the water if I try.”

Spencer just looked at him like he couldn’t believe Derek, of all people, didn’t have his back in this. Penelope’s heart broke a little to see it.

“I just… wanted to visit the witches with you guys,” he murmured. “See real witchcraft up close. I’ve just… read so much about it in theory…”

“We’ll tell you all about it,” Emily assured him, trying to cheer him up. “We’ll check up on you all the time, bring you talismans and whatnot to study while you’re here. I’m sure there’s something they can give you that’ll help your leg, too.”

He quirked his mouth to the side but didn’t say anything.

“And… you’ve got Sergio here, too, don’t forget. I don’t think he’d be too keen on seeing the witches. He’ll keep you company.”

“I guess,” he shrugged. 

Emily gave up her morale-boosting efforts. Spencer was a scholar. Seeing things firsthand, exploring them for himself… that was where he thrived. 

But he just couldn’t do that right now given the current circumstances.

JJ rubbed her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be back first,” she said. “As _ soon _ as we get confirmation from Elle that we’re allowed to stay on Greenaway, I’ll come right back and tell you _ everything _. I promise.”

Spencer nodded slowly. Resignedly. “Okay,” he mumbled. His gaze stopped just short of her eyes. 

And so, the able-bodied members of the crew clambered down into the awaiting, bobbing vessels. And they began their rowing to the mouth of the river that interrupted the thin sweep of white beach, just a little ways across the clear waves.

Penelope had made sure to snag a spot on the same boat as Derek, and then made sure he was the one to take the oars. The little jollyboat appeared to be the only seafaring vessel that the weaponsmith seemed able to handle half-decently, to Penelope’s mirth. Those big muscles were at least good for something.

And at least by the time they crossed into the mouth of the river and began rowing between the tall, tropical trees on either side, that haunted look on his face had eased some. Giving him something physical to do did seem to take his mind off of whatever troubled him - a little detail Penelope was glad she’d picked up during their sail from Port Quantico.

The river soon meandered to a point that the turquoise sea could no longer be seen behind them. The trees that soared high into the cloudy, blue sky were a dense, rich green, laden with summer fruits and spreading leaves wider than an arm span. Hanging flowers peeked out from between the weaving boughs of the canopy. Vegetation exploded from the riverbanks, dipping into the lazy current of the water with long tendrils of leaves and spindly exposed roots hanging with moss. Deep in the dense tropical forest, all manner of bird, bug, and creature let loose their calls, punctuating the humid air.

Derek and the other crewmates manning the oars were careful not to break the water too much. Even the dip of the oars seemed too much a disturbance to the vibrant, verdant ecosystem around them.

“I’ve never seen a jungle this thick on any other island in this archipelago,” Emily murmured from her seat beside Penelope. She could barely contain her awe as she twisted about and drank in the landscape on either bank of the river.

“The witches are very good at cultivating nature while they use it,” Penelope nodded, allowing herself a moment to ogle the forest herself. A butterfly the exact color and texture of tree bark suddenly took flight as their boat drifted near its exposed root. The other side of its broad wings was a beautiful, striking sapphire blue. Penelope had to smile at its beauty.

“Babygirl, how much farther?” Derek asked as he gave the oars another pull.

Penelope just raised an eyebrow at the sheen of sweat on the muscles of his arm. “What if I just don’t tell you, hot stuff?”

He cracked a smirk. He did have such a dashing grin. “I mean, I know you’re enjoying the view right now, but the stamina in these muscles isn’t limitless, I’ll let you know.”

“You haul a three-ton hammer over your head every day for a living. You’re fine.”

“When I keel over the side of this boat from exhaustion and drown, you better remember those words, Babygirl.”

“You won’t drown, the piranha will get you first.”

He blinked. “Piranha? You mean those little flesh-eating fish? They’re in this river?” His dark eyes flicked to the surface of the waves lapping the side of the boat. They revealed nothing of their depths.

Penelope just gave him a wicked grin. “Only if the witches call them.”

Derek paddled a little more delicately after that.

Emily leaned over and murmured into Penelope’s ear. “Can witches do that?” she asked. “Sic piranha on someone?”

“Oh, I have absolutely no clue,” Penelope muttered back. 

Emily looked at her for a moment before she grinned to herself, huffing a single laugh.

Penelope wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Emily grin that unabashedly in her presence before.

The river soon tapered off, and the trees began to thin out some. Up ahead, a small, squat building that could have easily been mistaken for another mangrove tree reached its wooden stilts into the water. Candlelight glowed from within, but the driftwood door leading onto the tiny front porch was shut tight.

The crew of the _ Redwing _ rowed past, studying it.

More houses of that nature cropped up along the riverbank soon, some of them in clusters of three or four at a time. Their roofs were made of long strips of dried vegetation - reeds, branches, long leaves - bundled and lashed together in a peak. Tendrils of smoke rose from some of the holes in the roofs. Every single building was on stilts above the water. Some had steps or ladders made of branches and coarse hemp rope that led down from the front porches to little floating docks before them. Driftwood seemed to be the building material of choice, and the only thing that unified the huts was their basic shape.

Aside from that, the details of each abode were as far from uniform as the could be.

Jars were a common decoration. Jars of plants, jars of dirt, jars of pebbles or shells or frosted crystals in every possible shape and size littered almost every flat surface - window sills, porches, docks, the precarious exposed tops of some of the stilts. Jars hung from rope strung between houses. 

One house was draped in pelts. Another had crystals buried into every exposed surface. Still another contained no jars at all, and instead almost looked like the jungle was in the process of claiming it. Penelope could have written it off as abandoned if not for the trail of cheery smoke twisting into the canopy and the light behind its mossy, lichen-coated front door.

And all the while, though there were no people to be seen, the air carried with it a sense of being _ watched _ that could not be shaken.

Derek kept looking to Penelope to point out which floating dock they should tie up at, but she just kept nodding him ahead, encouraging him gently to keep going.

Their destination made itself clear soon enough.

Up ahead, the river diverged sharply - one branch wide and smooth, the other smaller and much more serpentine, pockmarked by quiet burbling rapids. Where these two streams joined grew an enormous tree that reached up into the sprawling canopy and shaded the entire crossroads with its countless boughs of broad, green leaves. Half of its roots had been exposed by erosion - mostly on the side of the thinner brook - yet the entire structure was perfectly stable, rooted deep into its foundations.

Which was a good thing, because halfway up the trunk, fixed to it with wooden beams and hemp rope in places, was yet another hut.

It had the same basic, square form as all the others, but the thatched roof was more of a vague conical shape, with the thatching spreading outward from the wide tree trunk reaching through the center of the house. In a few places, branches held open sections of the roof to allow sunlight to stream inside. Wide driftwood steps led from the riverbank off to one side and curved up to the porch, hanging with flowers and an assortment of talismans and crystals. On the ground amid the foliage at the treehouse’s base, the tops of a fence could be spotted surrounding what seemed to be a small garden. There was a little garden hut hidden in the treeline there.

There were no lights on inside.

“This is it,” Penelope nodded. She directed their little fleet of boats to the riverbank. After drawing them up safely against the grassy embankment, pebbles and sand displacing underfoot, Penelope and JJ led the way up the creaking steps to the hut, followed by Derek and Emily. The others stayed behind to watch the boats.

Penelope figured it was best not to try to cram a whole crewful of strangers into the little house.

She hesitated at the door - there was still no light on.

“Is she even here?” Derek murmured.

“She’s here,” came a low, feminine voice from within, startling all four people on the porch. “Door’s unlocked.”

Penelope and JJ shared a look. Derek looked thoroughly spooked already, and Emily was rubbing her curled fingers together like she was itching for a pistol in her hand. 

Penelope put a flat palm against her wrist and shot her a warning look. “Don’t,” she whispered.

Emily set her jaw but stilled her fidgeting.

And JJ opened the door.

The inside of the witch’s hut looked exactly as Penelope remembered. Clay jugs pushed against the walls, filled with this and that or capped with a lid. Bowls and other cooking implements hung from the wooden beams holding up the ceiling. Dappled sunlight sprinkled down from some of the open hatches in the roof, illuminating the tables and tools and jars of crystals scattered throughout the room. Anything made of glass threw flecks of light here and there. The air was perfumed with the dry scent of herbs and wood and a hint of spice.

And standing at a wide shelf built into the tree trunk in the center of the room, grinding something with a small mortar and pestle, was a woman.

Long, dark hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in layers, framing a fine-boned face with a sharp nose and small mouth. Her patched skirt brushed the ground, concealing her feet.

The high witch Elle of Greenaway.

Before Penelope could even make a greeting or even an introduction of her companions, Elle spoke without even looking up from her task: “Where is the fifth?”

Penelope blinked. “The… sorry?”

“The fifth of your company.” She went on working at the mortar.

Derek looked severely askance in Penelope’s direction, but she could do nothing to answer the questions written plain on his face. She jabbed a thumb in the direction of the river, still confused herself. “The… rest of the crew is with the boats, there’s… more than five of us.”

Elle flicked her eyebrows and finally set aside the little bowl, leveling the group with a calm gaze beneath her thin, arching brows. “You’ve come to me for healing,” she said.

Penelope blinked again. She’d forgotten how the witch tended to jump between topics of conversation - and how she always did it like she’d already figured out the answer to her previous question. It was… eerie, that supernatural intuition of hers. “We, uh,” she said, “We just came to see if we could seek asylum here for a while. Not forever, just until we could recuperate and gather our strength. We’re on the run from another pirate -”

“Captain Catherine Adams, yes I know. She’s got your ship, now, doesn’t she. That’s why you sailed in here on the commodore’s.”

Emily’s lips parted, eyebrows lowering. She cast a glance to Penelope, who just waved her hand. Of course Elle knew how they’d come. Of course she already knew why they were here. 

JJ spoke next. “We won’t be any trouble,” she said, “We just came here for a place to hide out for a bit.”

“The _ fifth _came to me for healing,” Elle said, walking over to a wicker basket leaning against a chair. She hefted it onto a nearby table and set about rooting through its contents as she spoke. “Doesn’t know it just yet, of course, but he did.”

Derek suddenly went rigid. “He? Are… are you talking about -”

“Spencer Reid, son of Diana and William Reid, nephew and current dependent of Governor Jason Gideon of Port Quantico. He’s somewhat of a scholar, isn’t he.”

“How do you know about him?” Derek insisted, clearly extremely unnerved by the calm way the witch listed off Spencer’s personal history. “Who are you?”

“It was inconsiderate of you to leave him behind, Penelope,” the witch said, ignoring Derek’s frantic demands. Her eyes cut to the group. “He’s lost protectors before.”

The room went very still. The only noises were the soft rustlings of whatever Elle was looking for in the basket. JJ swallowed and averted her gaze from the witch.

Derek’s shoulders were still tight as he stared and stared at her. “What do you mean he’s… lost protectors before?” he asked.

“I’d go to him before he counts you among their ranks, Derek Morgan,” was all she gently said. 

Penelope lifted her brows in question at the weaponsmith, but he wasn’t paying her any attention. His raw gaze was fixed on Elle. “Can… you heal him?” he said, the composure in his voice beginning to fray. “Is there a… a talisman I can bring to him that’ll do the job, or something?”

“Talismans don’t have healing properties - at least not to the extent he needs it.” Elle simply selected a sprig of some herb or another from the basket and went back over to the mortar. “It’s good you got the bullet out of his leg when you did,” she nodded at him. “That saved his life. But this medicine I’m making here isn’t going to get him back on his feet if he’s not in my presence.” When Derek didn’t move, still processing everything she’d just said, she made a little waving motion towards the door. “Out with you. Go to him. If you care for him, bring him to me.”

That jarred the weaponsmith to disoriented and chaotic action. _ If you care for him. _ A new determination flaring in his eyes, he turned to leave, bumping into hanging pots and the others in the group who had been blocking the door. He swore under his breath as he tripped over something.

“Wait!” the witch called, forcing the poor man to whirl back to look at her - just in time to clumsily catch the clay bottle she’d lobbed his way. “Sea water. I need that to heal him. Bring me some, please?”

“Uh - sure, yeah.” Still somewhat dazed, Derek finally got a hand on the doorknob and slipped out of the hut. His hurried footsteps rattled down the steps.

Leaving the three women alone in the hut with the witch, staring at each other with wide eyes.

Elle, naturally, was completely unfazed by the flurry she’d sent Derek into. “Anyway,” she said, a ghost of a smirk touching her lips as she worked, “To answer your question, Penelope, Greenaway would be more than welcome to harbor you for however long you need, considering that enormous favor you did for me in stealing that crystal back last year.”

“Oh.” Penelope refocused. “Right. Of course. You’re welcome. And thank you, thanks.”

“No problem whatsoever,” she gave her a small smile. “The other witches here will help you with anything you need, as always. Simply ask.”

“Do you have weapons?” Emily asked. “Artillery ammunition? Something to help us in a sea battle?”

Elle raised an eyebrow but only glanced up briefly from her task. “Never thought I’d see you here, Commodore. Not in this pretense of cordiality, at least.”

Emily seemed to stiffen at the mention of her title, but she pushed on. “I’m just here to take down Cat,” she explained tightly. “And we’re going to need supplies -”

“And once you take down Cat, what will you do then?” The witch leaned both hands on the shelf and looked to her. “There will be other Cats, Commodore. And others after them. Your passion is seeking danger and eradicating it, to take that danger away from others so that no one else need be harmed. As long as there are ships on the sea, there will be evil men and women who captain them for their own wicked intents. And as long as there are men… well. You already know what your future holds when you return to Port Quantico, don’t you. No matter how hard you may fight against it.”

The commodore didn’t say anything in response.

But Elle didn’t push her on this topic that was clearly a source of discomfort for her. She offered her a small smile instead. “I encourage you not to dwell on it while you’re here, Emily Prentiss,” she said. “Let your time on Greenaway be an escape from the pressures and expectations of the society you hail from. Cherish this time you have among your friends.”

JJ and Penelope both looked to Emily at that, but to their surprise… Emily didn’t deny the friendship. She just nodded to herself.

_ Friendship. _

_ The commodore of Port Quantico… is my friend. Is a friend of everyone here, pirate or no. _

_ No. _ Emily Prentiss _ is my friend. Commodore has nothing to do with that. _

Elle flicked her eyebrows at the door. “Make sure someone passes that onto those two men alone on your ship, as well. They, perhaps, need to hear that even more than you.”

Penelope immediately brightened with a mischievous smile. “You see it too?” she grinned. “Those two -”

“I took one look at Derek Morgan, and I saw in him a soul that has bound itself to another,” the witch smirked. 

“I don’t think he knows that, yet.”

“Oh, yes he does. He most certainly does. What he struggles with now is simply accepting it.” She shook her head. “Pesky mainland society, and all that.”

“I knew it,” Penelope hissed gleefully. She tapped JJ on the arm. “I told you. I knew it. Just friends, my _ foot _.”

“I never said I didn’t believe you,” her first mate said back.

“I know, I know, I’m just excited _ someone _ confirmed it.”

“So, wait,” Emily said, holding up a hand, “Elle, what are you saying? A soul bound to another? Are you… saying Derek’s _ in love _ with Spencer, or something?”

The witch nodded matter-of-factly. “And mutually, I might add,” she said.

“Aww,” Penelope cooed, placing a hand to her chest. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”

But JJ was a little less enthusiastic at the moment. Her blue eyes cut to Emily. Emily, who was a child of that same stringent society just as both men were. Who had grown up with the same expectations that were stopping them from admitting their feelings. Who had no reason to share Penelope’s enthusiasm, given her upbringing.

“Does that… bother you?” JJ asked her. It was faint, but there was the barest hint of an edge in her tone that implied that there was a correct and an incorrect answer to her question.

Emily blinked, recovering from her mild shock, but she shook her head slowly. “N-no,” she said - and from her tone, she meant it. “No, not… not really. I’m a little surprised, but… I think I started to suspect, this past couple weeks. But it doesn’t _ bother _ me. Why should _ I _get worked up about who they love? It doesn’t have any impact on my life. People… people should love who they want.”

“Well said, Emily,” Penelope beamed, giving her a small round of applause. 

Elle finally finished with whatever she was doing with the mortar and pestle, and she placed the tools to the side. She cleared off a table and pulled out a chair for herself, motioning to the others. “Please, sit,” she said. “We ought to make ourselves comfortable while we wait for the boys to return.”

“How are they going to do that?” Emily frowned as the three women took a seat at the witch’s table. “We left Spencer on the _ Redwing _ because he was still too injured to make it off the ship and into the jollyboat. Derek’s just going to have the same problem.”

“I don’t think he’ll find it a problem. His role as Spencer Reid’s protector has been threatened. He’ll find a way.” Elle placed both palms on the table with a placid smile. “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Penelope and JJ chorused. Emily politely declined, still a little wary of the witch and her craft.

Elle nodded and rose again. “So, Jennifer, how is that inn of yours?” she asked as she moved around the hut once more.

“Fine,” the first mate beamed.

“Penelope? Anyone new in your life?”

“I’d say our dear, handsome Derek,” she smirked, “But, alas, despite our incessant flirtatious banter - which I _ thoroughly _ enjoy - and both of our _ stunning _good looks, I think we’re merely the best of friends at this point. Not to mention, his affections are obviously elsewhere,” she added.

“_ Quite _ obviously,” JJ grinned.

“I guess so,” Emily said, inclining her head in the direction of the witch, “If Elle can take just one look at him and already figure out he’s got a crush.”

“No, that was just my witchcraft that did that. It enhances my intuition and ability to sense auras,” came her low voice from a completely different corner of the hut than Emily had directed her comment towards, making her jump a little.

“Oh,” she said. “Naturally. My mistake.”

A strong, herbal tea was brewed and served. The women spoke freely around the table as they sipped their drinks. Once Emily saw that Penelope and JJ had finished off almost an entire clay cup of the brew and had yet to display any sign of a curse or poisoning, she at length accepted a cup herself. 

Penelope was able to relay their entire story so far to Elle, who listened intently. She explained how she and JJ had gone ashore to relax after a successful heist, and while they were there, her second mate Cat had given the local authorities an anonymous tip as to their location. She described how Emily had been summoned for the capture, how the uniformed soldiers had burst into the tavern unawares, and how Penelope had been so caught off guard in that moment that by the time she reacted, she’d already been disarmed and restrained. JJ jumped in at this point to explain how she’d managed to dash out the back and seek refuge with a friend, deep in the pirate sector of the village. Penelope described her imprisonment on the _ Profiler _ and their subsequent journey to Port Quantico, her spectacular parade at the docks, the conditions in the fort’s dungeon where she was thrown, and her sentencing. 

Emily took that time to interject into the story what had happened to her during that time. It was the first time Penelope and JJ heard exactly what had happened, beginning to end, in detail. Emily recalled how Spencer had tagged along on her patrol, and how she’d sent him belowdecks when a pirate ship - Cat’s ship, _ Penelope’s _ ship - had been spotted on the horizon. She described the broadside, the boarding, and the rounding up of the crew. She’d gotten the wound on her arm during that battle. Her hand fisted on the tabletop when she told how Cat had finally found her friend, wheedled his name from him with taunts, and immediately thrown him onto her ship and sailed away - but not before she knocked Emily unconscious.

Penelope told the witch how, once news of Emily’s return and Spencer’s kidnapping had reached Port Quantico, Derek had sought her out and broken her out of prison that same night. She described the commandeering of the_ Redwing _ \- and actually drew a couple laughs from that whole story, even from Emily herself.

From then on, it was rather straightforward, with all three women speaking comfortably together. The trip from Port Quantico to Keg Town, the meeting with JJ and Will, their run-in with Kevin, and their mad dash through the erupting streets. How Spencer had gotten himself free from the brig of the _ Black Queen _ and joined them as they fled - but not before taking a shot to the leg.

“We fought a pretty nasty storm on our way here,” Emily said.

“Oh, yeah,” Penelope said, nodding vehemently. “That was a time.”

“But we made it.”

“We did. And now we’re here.” JJ gestured to Elle. “And you, of course, know everything that happens in the waters around this island, so… you’re caught up, I suppose.”

Elle blinked. “Well,” she said. “That is… quite a story.” Without warning, in one fluid motion, she rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, the boys are back.”

“Already?” JJ exclaimed, rising as well.

“It seems I was correct in predicting Derek’s conviction and haste,” the witch smiled. “They’re about to reach the riverbank. Come, let’s meet them down there so the poor governor’s nephew doesn’t have to hazard my steps.”

Sure enough, once the women left the tree house and descended down the stairs, one of their boats was pulling up to the riverbank - with two passengers on board. 

And they were both soaking wet.

“That was fast,” Penelope grinned at the two men as Derek abandoned the oars and hopped into the shallows to drag the boat onto the pebbles. Spencer gripped the sides of the boat tightly with both hands as it rocked from the sudden displacement of the weight.

Derek managed to acknowledge Penelope with a brief, exhausted smile. “We… ran into some complications,” he said, straightening once the boat was secure on the riverbank and placing his hands on his hips. He let out a long exhale.

“He threw me into the water!” Spencer exclaimed.

“No, no I did not,” Derek frowned and pointed a finger his way. “We _ both _ fell into the water.”

The governor’s nephew would have none of that. “He tried carrying me over his shoulder down the side of the ship like a sack of potatoes,” he insisted to JJ, who had come over to help him out. “So, naturally, halfway down, he lost his footing in his haste and sent us both plummeting into the sea. You’re lucky I know how to _ swim _ .” He directed that last one at the weaponsmith. “Even _ with _ a hole in my leg that still _ really hurts from the saltwater, _Morgan.”

“You wanted off the ship, right? Well, that was the only way to do it, and I got you off the ship.”

“Maybe there was a reason that the potato-sack idea wasn’t taken into _ consideration _the first time.”

“Is there a ‘Thank you, Morgan,’ in there somewhere?” Derek crossed his arms.

“No, there most certainly is _ not _ , I’m soaking wet and in _ no _small amount of pain and it’s all your fault.”

Penelope, Elle, and Emily shared a long look as they watched the two of them bicker back and forth. “How are those auras looking?” Penelope murmured to the witch.

Elle cracked a smile as her only answer.

“Okay, well,” said JJ, letting her friend use her for balance as he clambered unceremoniously out of the boat with one good leg, “I think we can put this all behind us for the time being, can’t we? Spence, this is Elle of Greenaway, the high witch on this island. She’s going to heal your leg so we don’t have these kinds of problems again.”

Spencer blinked as JJ directed his attention to the witch in their company. “Oh,” he said. “Uh… great.”

Elle simply cut her gaze to Derek. “Did you bring me my sea water?” she asked. “I can do nothing of the healing sort without it.”

“What? Oh, yeah, yes, I got it,” said the weaponsmith, diving for the boat and lifting the clay jug from within. He gave it to her. “Took the opportunity while we were in the water to fill that up.”

“Good.”

“See?” Derek said, lifting his brows in Spencer’s direction, earning him a scowl. “If we hadn’t fallen into the sea, I may not have remembered to get that water for your healing.”

“And if either one of us had hit our heads on the side of the boat floating just under the ladder, then someone could have drowned,” he snipped back. “_ Especially _ if it had been you. I couldn’t have hauled both myself _ and _ you to safety with my impaired range of motion in my leg. In fact, though arms are indeed crucial to stay afloat while swimming, most of one’s forward power is derived from the legs -”

Derek turned an exasperated look on Penelope as he spread his arms. “You see what I have to deal with?” he lamented. “The thanks I get?”

“You did send him toppling into the water,” she said.

“It’s not like I meant to!”

“If you weren’t in such a rush, then maybe you wouldn’t have slipped off,” Spencer said.

Derek didn’t have an immediate answer to that - he just opened his mouth and searched for the proper retort for a moment. Spencer raised his eyebrows at him. “Look,” he finally said. “I was just trying to get you to the witch as soon as I could so you didn’t have to be boatridden for this whole time, okay?”

“Hmm,” said Penelope, twitching her pursed lips up at the corner, “I’m with Boy Wonder on this one. No thanks for you.”

“Not you too, come on,” he groaned. “Don’t make me throw you into the river, too.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Spencer piped up, cracking a small grin himself. “Don’t goad him too much, Penelope,” he said, “He’ll follow through.” Derek cuffed him lightly upside the head, and the governor’s nephew let out a small cry - more out of surprise than of actual pain. “_ JJ _ ,” he exclaimed, looking to her desperately for some kind of backup. “He _ hit _ me!”

JJ’s flat expression didn’t change one bit. “Boys, behave, or I will ground you both,” she warned nonchalantly.

Spencer pursed his lips at Derek, eyes narrowed, but the weaponsmith just shot him a dazzling grin in retaliation.

Elle finally took that moment to step in. “I have a small house back behind my garden here where I can administer your healing and you can rest, Spencer Reid,” she said. “Derek, it’s most likely best if you remain here. You’ll agitate him too much for the healing to properly work.”

“What?” his mouth fell open. “I’m not agitating him.”

“You hit me.”

“I did not.”

“_ And _ we’re leaving. Come.” The witch placed a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder and, with the assistance of JJ, helped him around the little fenced-off garden to the healing hut beyond, just under the trees.

Derek watched them go.

Penelope couldn’t help but sidle up beside him and cross her arms coyly. “You know,” she said, “Generally… young gentlemen don’t exactly go for being dunked into the river by their beaus. You’d be better off with a nice dinner first, maybe a little dancing…”

“What are _ you _going on about?” he asked, cocking his head and giving a very convincing performance of indifference.

Unfortunately for him, Penelope didn’t feel like being such a passive audience anymore. “Please. We’ve had enough conversations of this nature for you to know what I’m going on about.”

He sighed. Squeezed shut his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re always so…”

“Always so what?”

“_ Understanding _ ,” he blurted out. “I’ve never… I have never once told _ anyone _ about… any of that, but you always just seem to… _ know _.”

She shrugged a little. “I mean, I do have some experience with fancying people regardless of gender -”

“Okay, well I don’t.” He looked away. The rest of the crew had gathered a little ways away on the grassy riverbank, chattering amongst themselves, and there was no one within earshot paying them any attention. Still, Derek kept his voice low and his arms crossed over his middle. Despite his cheerful bantering just a minute ago, now that he was actually being confronted about the implications behind it… he was out of his comfort zone. _ Well _out of it. “I mean, women, sure, I’ve been with my fair share of ladies, but I… I have no experience with… men, you know?”

“It’s… not much different than wooing a lady. All the same tricks and smiles and shockingly handsome looks will get you the same results,” she said, but she softened quickly once more. “But I get it.” She laid a hand on his arm. “And it’s okay.”

“Is it?” He met her gaze, and his expression was turbulent. Ragged. Like he was being torn apart. “Is it really okay? At all?”

She frowned worriedly. “Of course it is.”

“It’s just… it feels way too easy.” He shook his head. “That time we first talked about it on the _ Redwing _ , I… I told you I didn’t know why you thought my tastes swung in both directions, but the truth is… I already knew. I knew for a long time, but I just… _ repressed _ it. For so long. I mean… no one has _ ever _told me it could be okay to like both. Ever.”

Penelope just let him speak.

Derek ran a hand over the back of his head. “And then, to meet you, and have you… _ encouraging me _ all of a sudden, especially now that I’ve never felt closer to… to Reid… it just feels too easy. Too easy, to just _ suddenly _say ‘Yes, I love women, but I also love… I love…”

The word was on the tip of his tongue, Penelope could practically feel it. So close to saying it. _ But old habits die hard. _

“I understand,” she said quietly. “I get it. You’ve got all kinds of influences being thrown at you at once, and you don’t know what to do with it all, or where to go from here.”

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“It’s okay.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” he sighed. “Can…” he swallowed before proceeding in a hoarse murmur, “Can you help me figure it out? Please?”

Penelope blinked, then shrugged one shoulder. “I’m trying,” she admitted. “But there’s only so many cheerful and sunshiney words I can say. I can try to give you advice, but in the end it’s up to you to choose the course of action that makes you happiest.”

He sighed heavily, but she went on. “But, look, this island? Greenaway? This is the perfect place to do that choosing. Peaceful, quiet, cut off from the world, surrounded by your closest friends…”

“Being surrounded by other people doesn’t exactly make this any easier,” he gritted.

Penelope was quiet for a bit. Derek just looked off into the reeds at the riverbank. A peal of laughter came from the group of pirates clustered in their group a little ways off, and Penelope finally broke the silence again - gently. “Maybe not,” she said, “But I hope you believe me when I tell you that there is not a single person in this company that would be unnerved or… _ revolted _ or anything that people from your society have been taught to feel around someone like you.”

Derek swallowed. “Emily -”

“Doesn’t care.” Penelope shook her head and waved a hand to emphasize her point. She even offered him a brief smile. “She doesn’t care, Derek, she said so herself.”

One dark eyebrow crept up. “You were talking about me?”

“Only a little,” she admitted. “ But the point is… you don’t have to feel like you need to keep your affections hidden around us. Or hidden from yourself.”

Now it was Derek’s turn to let the silence drag on. Penelope let him think over her words for as long as he needed to. 

And at length, he spoke up. “Even…” he wet his lips and tried again. “Even _ if _ I… stopped hiding it, or whatever it is you’re saying I should do… there’s still _ him _. What he feels. Or what he doesn’t.”

She the corner of her lips tick just a hair higher. _ This is progress, this is progress. Now he’s just fixating on the possibility of rejection. _

_ Which, lucky him, just so happens to be entirely unfounded in this situation. _

“Remember what I told you a long time ago?” she asked him. “About us queer kids being able to sense when another one of us is among us?”

Derek frowned. “That’s not reliable.”

“Been pretty reliable so far.”

“Babygirl, I can’t. I can’t do what you’re suggesting,” he insisted. 

“And what am I suggesting?”

“Making a move.”

She just shrugged in affirmation.

He shook his head. “I don’t even know where I could possibly start. I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Sure you can,” she encouraged him. _ Can’t, or won’t? No use apologizing to me. There’s a big difference there, and it’s going to mean the difference between _ your _ happiness and _ your _ regret sooner or later. _

_ And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t have to live with the regret of not knowing what might have been. _ “Remind him you’re always there for him - you’re his protector, right?” At his hesitant nod, she pushed on. “Then stick around with him. He absolutely adores your company, trust me. I can see that with my own two eyes, and _ they’re _ pretty reliable.”

Derek was shaking his head… but his jaw was worked in such a way that made Penelope think his years of repression were _ just _starting to cave. “I don’t know…”

“I think you do,” she said gently. “This place, in this company… you couldn’t ask for a better opportunity to take a shot. _ Any _ shot. I’m not saying marry him right now, I just mean… get your feelings off your chest. I think you’ve both been in agony, holding it in, for long enough.”

The river burbling by was the only sound for a long, long time. Eventually, Derek said, “You really think both, huh.”

“I do,” Penelope smiled.

Derek huffed a laugh, dipping his chin. He was smiling. _ Smiling. That’s a smile on that handsome mouth of his. Oh, he’s considering it. I think I’ve got him now… _“I gotta think about it,” he said.

She nodded vehemently. “Okay. Sure,” she beamed, spreading her hands. “Take all the time you need - we’re in no hurry. We’re not leaving for a long time. I’ve been feeling like taking a little time off myself, what with having been captured and imprisoned and chased through the streets. Plenty of time for thinking.” She pointed with both hands across the garden with a coy little grin. “In fact, you should go do your thinking by the bedside of your boy in the healing hut.”

“Didn’t you hear the witch?” he chided. But he was still smiling. “Apparently I agitate him too much.”

“Oh, that’s right. Another time, then. You can pick up your wooing later.” Penelope folded her hands behind her back and decided to take her leave. A few strides later, another thought popped up, and she turned back around. “Oh, and by the way, Derek?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Penelope?”

“I’d advise against using any more waterborne activities in your courtship strategy. I think you’ve exhausted that tactic a mite too far.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said with a grin.

She regarded him with a mischievous look as she said, using his earlier words against him for one last teasing jab, “Is there a ‘Thank you, Garcia,’ in there somewhere?”

Derek cast one last lingering glance at the healing hut before replying. 

“We’ll see.”


	13. Ignite

Penelope eventually joined the group of the _ Redwing _ crew sitting by the river, but Derek didn’t feel like joining in on their conversation just then. He stuck around the garden instead and tried to sort through the thoughts crowding his head. 

A neutral position between the riverbank and the healing hut.

The two directions he was being pulled.

It was a small plot of tilled earth, Elle’s garden. Various herb and vegetable plants sprouted in thick clumps of leaves of many different shapes and sizes, perfuming the air with their mineral scent. Derek wasn’t very good with his horticulture, but he did recognize a tomato plant and something he was pretty sure smelled like rosemary. Either way, the little plot was an explosion of fresh vegetation.

_ You’re his protector, right? _

The fence around the garden was composed of mismatched twigs leaning on each other for support and tied together with hemp cord when needed. It didn’t seem terribly sturdy. Derek was fairly certain if he tried to lean on it or if an animal tried to break it down, it would just collapse and uproot itself from its moorings.

_ He absolutely adores your company. _

He swallowed. Of course, with that in mind, it _ was _ the herb garden of a witch. It was probably bewitched in some way to keep the animals out. It _ did _ contain ingredients for spells, most likely. Derek edged a little further away.

_ I’m not saying marry him right now, I just mean… get your feelings off your chest. _

_ Get my feelings off my chest? Like what, tell him I… _

The garden itself was also probably bewitched, now that he put thought into it. It was an effort to drown out all his other thoughts. Yes, probably bewitched to keep the plants growing properly and yielding fruit. Either the plants or the dirt or the water… 

_ I think you’ve both been in agony, holding it in, for long enough. _

Derek clenched his jaw and gave up. Fixating on the plants was not going to be enough. 

_ This is going to be a very long stay._

* * *

When Elle finally stepped out of the hut, Derek had seated himself on the ground and was idly pulling up sprigs of grass while he picked apart his conversation with Penelope. Upon seeing the movement from that direction, he immediately shot to his feet.

Elle simply met him with a lifted palm. “Don’t bother,” she said. “He’s asleep.”

Derek frowned. “Asleep? He just woke up! It’s not even noon yet.”

“Witchcraft doesn’t stem from nothing,” she explained, still keeping herself planted between him and the little building. “I channel auras and energy. All I did was encourage his own body to accelerate its natural healing process - and, as such, that drains his energy. He’ll be out for a while.”

“How long?” he asked.

She shrugged. “He might wake by sundown. He might wake by tomorrow’s sundown. No more than that, I’d say. His wound is deep but not terribly complicated for the body to stitch up - not to mention, it had a week’s head start healing on its own already.”

“But he’ll be okay once he wakes up?”

“There might still be some soreness for a bit, and it will scar, but yes. He will.”

Derek nodded distantly. “Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “Good.”

Elle’s arching eyebrows lifted a fraction higher as she cast a glance back from where she’d emerged. “JJ has taken it upon herself to monitor him while he’s asleep,” she said airily, “But… she can’t fill that position forever.”

His eyes snapped up.

“Someone will need to take the next watch after she has exhausted herself.”

“Are you offering it to me?”

“I’m merely stating the truth.” She inclined her head in the direction of the group. “Pass it on to the others, I’m sure some of them would also like a turn keeping an eye on him.”

“I thought you said I agitate him too much to be around him while he’s healing,” Derek said, crossing his arms.

Elle just swept around him and began ascending the steps back up to her tree house. “I would take over by sundown if I were you,” she said as a non-answer.

“Wait, what? Why?” he frowned up at her. “Wait, wait, hold up, I thought you said you didn’t know when he was…”

She made no motion to answer him and instead shut the door behind her with a resolute _ thunk _, leaving Derek standing awkwardly at the bottom of the steps.

_ Take over by sundown? Is that when he’ll wake up? _

_ Does she want me to be the one who’s there when he - _

“Derek.”

Emily’s voice snapped him out of it all of a sudden. He blinked at her. “Yeah?”

She jabbed her thumb at the boats, which the crew had begun to load back into. “We were going to head back to the ship and get our supplies. According to Penelope, some of those witch houses we passed on the way here are open to visitors, we were just going to settle in. You know, make ourselves comfortable here?”

“Yeah,” he said, waving a hand. “Sure. Wait for me.”

Emily snorted with a grin. “Well, Penelope and I don’t have much of a choice, seeing as you’re the one manning the oars.”

“Me? How come the captain isn’t pulling her weight here?” he narrowed his eyes as the pair approached the boat - where Penelope was already sitting, perched perfectly on her seat.

She gave them a close-mouthed smile. “Because the captain is above such menial labor,” she said pleasantly.

“And I’m not?”

“Most certainly not, my dear friend. Now sit.”

Emily got into the boat and sat beside Penelope, a matter-of-fact expression on her face. “Captain’s orders,” she said. 

Derek rolled his eyes and obliged. “My lady.”

Unloading the _ Redwing _took most of the afternoon. Hefting supplies over the side of the ship and down the ladder - without slipping off into the sea below - was not an easy task. Derek was subjected to constant teasing over that fact until Luke accidentally climbed down too quickly at one point and stepped on Matt’s hand on the rung below, causing the latter to lose his grip and fall the last few feet into the water. 

After that point, Luke was the new scapegoat.

Some of the other witches on the island came out to greet them and direct them to where they could put down their supplies. The first huts closest to the mouth of the river were the ones open to them, and thin partitions had been placed within to give each crew member some small semblance of privacy. As such, the resulting “rooms” for each were somewhat cramped.

It turned out that the witch community was much larger than they’d expected. There were the huts along the river, sure, but as the crew got comfortable and began poking around, they discovered small circles of huts a little deeper in the treeline with community fires in the center. The witches themselves hailed from every race and nation - the majority were women, but there were a few men scattered here and there. Anyone who possessed the same supernatural abilities as Elle and needed a place to hide from those who would persecute them was safe on the island. And all of them looked happy.

That was really the most profound enlightenment Derek had over the course of the day. The indisputable sense of _ safety _ within the witch community. 

Of belonging. 

And that alone was starting to take the edge off of his internal division. To calm him down. Clear his head.

He poked his head into the healer’s tent a couple times throughout the day, while the others were busy unloading or scrounging together a meal. JJ readily accepted the food he brought her.

There was only one cot in the tiny space, the floor otherwise cluttered with various objects like the inside of the tree house. JJ had placed herself on a chair under the window.

And dead asleep on the cot under a linen sheet, curled on his side, his face mashed into the pillow, was Reid.

Derek lingered in the doorframe for a moment longer to look at him. His hair falling across his forehead. His dark eyelashes. His injured leg bent a little higher over the other under the sheet. He almost could have said he looked peaceful asleep like that… except for the tiny furrow of his brows every once and awhile, barely more than a tick, like there was something bothering him even in sleep.

JJ must have noted his hesitance to leave. “He’s always slept like that,” she said, tipping her head in her friend’s direction. “Kind of curled up on his side. We’d sneak over to one another’s houses when we were kids on the mainland sometimes, if we just didn’t want to sleep alone in those big, fancy chambers of ours. Our houses were just down the avenue from each other.”

“Has he always… had that expression on his face, too?” he asked quietly.

She just gave a few solemn nods.

“Does he get nightmares?”

“He used to, from time to time,” she murmured. “He would tell me about them if they were ever really bad. But whenever I was with him… they usually weren’t so bad and he could relax.” She shook her head. “Those big houses always made you feel so… vulnerable. All those big rooms and not enough people to fill them. He’s just more comfortable in someone else’s company.”

Derek couldn’t relate to JJ’s story - he’d grown up his whole life in Port Quantico in a tiny home with his mom and sisters - but he could see how a big, exposed space like that could make someone feel like that. And hearing that, seeing Reid sleeping alone on the healer’s cot, Derek was struck with the sudden urge to hold him, be the one to give him company, see if he couldn’t ease that furrow between his eyebrows. It hurt him to see him looking so vulnerable. He just wanted to take that off his shoulders, if he could.

But he did nothing of that sort.

Instead, he just tapped the doorframe absently, just for something to do to dispel the awkwardness in the room the longer he postponed his departure. “Do, uh… do you want me to… I don’t know, take over for a bit?” he asked.

JJ finally broke her gaze from her sleeping friend. She blinked. Shook her head. “No, I’m good for now,” she said, offering Derek a quick smile. “Thanks, though.”

He nodded, feeling more than a little dejected - but JJ cared about Reid, too. He wasn’t the only one. She deserved her time as a protector, too. “We got all your stuff moved into one of the huts,” he said.

“Thanks.” She smiled again - but this time, it lingered a little longer. “Hey. I’ll… I’ll come find you when I’m done, okay? Or if he wakes up before then.”

His heart flared a little at that, and a smile touched his lips. “Okay. Thanks, JJ.”

“No problem,” she said gently. 

And Derek left.

The rest of the evening passed agonizingly slowly. To Derek, it felt like it took an hour for the shadows of the jungle to creep even an inch over the ground while the crew of the _ Redwing _ unwound. He joined in with Penelope and Emily in their circle of conversation, took a few swigs when the rum was passed around, but no more than that. He couldn’t help but feel distant from the others.

The sun sank lower in the sky.

JJ appeared just as Derek was about to head over to the hut himself and wait outside the door. She gave his arm a pat as he passed her. “Still asleep,” she murmured. He nodded and headed off through one of the little paths that wound through the jungle.

He’d etched this particular path firmly into his mind already.

Reid hadn’t moved much since when he’d checked up on him earlier - except for one arm, which was now dangling by the elbow over the edge of the cot. Derek eased the door shut and, as quietly as he could, sat himself down on the seat that JJ had claimed all day. He still had the bottle of rum in his hands, he realized somewhat belatedly - he set that down beside him. Interlaced his fingers, rested his elbows on his legs.

And… sat.

A glance out the window showed that the long shadows outside had disappeared into a smooth, gathering darkness - the sun had set. 

_ Of course, Elle didn’t specifically say _ when _ he’d wake up. Just that I should be here by sundown. It might be hours. _

_ She also didn’t even specifically say he’d even wake up under my watch, actually. _

Derek sighed. _ Guess I’ll be here for a while, then. _

The darkness outside deepened and stars began to wink into existence in the ink-blue sky. Lanterns flickered to life as the witches lit them - up and down the driftwood stairwells, hanging off the roofs and porches, light glimmering off the surface of the black river. The screech of the jungle animals in the daytime had eased into the gentler sounds of night insects under every leaf. From the sound of it, there was a cricket inside the hut somewhere.

But besides the cricket… it was still just him and Reid.

He didn’t want to stare _ too _much at him while he slept, but Derek couldn’t help snatching glances at his face every once and awhile. And every time he did, it made him want to smile just a little bit.

_ There’s a reason I call you Pretty Boy. _

Because he was. Pretty, that is. Unfairly so. He still needed to shave and his long hair was a mess of haphazard strands after weeks at sea, but… he was the prettiest man Derek had ever known. And the smartest. And probably one of the most awkward. But that only added to how much he…

Derek’s heart turned over in his chest as he looked at him.

_ How much I love you. _

_ I love you. _

He couldn’t deny it. He liked to push it down, shove it out of the way, but alone in the healing hut on an island of witches, far from the world both knew, he couldn’t deny it. Didn’t feel like putting in the effort to, anymore. He loved the governor’s nephew. 

Loved him.

Reid’s hand was still drooping over the edge of the cot, pulling the sheet taut over his elbow. Derek suddenly couldn’t sit still. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching for him.

He stilled his hand in midair before he could touch him.

But, for the first time… he overruled that instinctive hesitation.

Reid’s palm was soft under the calluses on Morgan’s fingers as he took hold of his hand. He brushed his thumb over his knuckles, the smooth skin there, the knobs of bone.

Holding his hand. Gently, like holding a bird before it could fly away. As gently as he could with his rough weaponsmith’s hands, which he was suddenly extremely aware of.

The governor’s nephew didn’t stir in his sleep or make any indication that Derek had woken him up - which was good, because he could feel a hot flush creep up his neck at the thought of him discovering what he was doing. Whether it was fear or something else, he wasn’t sure and decided not to think too hard about it. He was just holding his hand.

_ Holding the hand of the man I’m in love with. _

“I love you,” he whispered as he gazed at his sleeping face. So quietly, he could barely hear himself. 

He considered repeating himself, but an animal snapped a twig somewhere in the woods just behind the hut and Derek’s face heated from the mere proximity to another being - human or not. 

So, instead, carefully as he could without disturbing him too much, Derek brought Reid’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. He let his lips linger on his skin for the barest fraction of a second longer than he had to before he finally drew away and gently tucked his hand back onto the cot beside the pillow so it wasn’t dangling over the edge anymore.

Reid’s brows furrowed again in his sleep, but his eyes did not open.

Derek exhaled. Fresh heat washed over his face over what he had just done - what he had just _ said _ \- but he didn’t feel horrified in himself. He didn’t feel like he had done anything wrong. Instead, the feeling that had set his heart racing was… _ happiness. _ A little bit of embarrassment, but _ happiness. _

The feeling of Reid’s skin ghosted against his lips, and he felt… good.

Derek snorted to himself, his face breaking into a grin almost against his will. He shook his head. His foot shifted against the floor and connected with the bottle of rum he’d accidentally stolen, making the glass scrape against the packed earth. 

_ You need a drink after _ that _ one, buddy. _

He shook his head, huffing another little laugh. He picked the bottle up off the floor, sloshed the contents a little in consideration, and took a long swig.

A slow intake of breath from the cot. The shift of linen. Derek lowered the bottle as Reid scrunched his eyes shut as he rolled a little off his stomach. 

And his eyes opened into slits. 

His throat bobbed and then came his voice, somewhat hoarse: “Is that water?”

Warmth expanded from Derek’s heart, seeing him awake again. “Hey, kid,” he murmured to him with a smile.

Reid just frowned and gave a tentative stretch of his back. “Is there any more water?”

Derek lifted the bottle of rum - now mostly empty. It hadn’t been very full when he’d snatched it. “Dunno about water,” he said softly. “I’m not sure this’ll help you much if you’re thirsty, I think this might be a little too strong for you right now.”

“What, is it rum?”

“Yeah.”

Reid swore lightly. He rolled over onto his back and propped himself up with his elbows, bending his good knee up under the sheet. He blinked, his eyes a little clearer, as he looked down at his other leg. 

Derek tipped his head to the side. “How’s the leg feeling?”

“Fine,” he mumbled, a little bewildered. “It… it feels fine.” He drew off the cover and stared for a few moments, then directed his stare at Morgan. “It’s… good.”

“Really?” He set the bottle of rum down on the earth and came around to crouch by the side of the bed to see what he was talking about.

The mark of the wound was still there on his thigh, but it was no longer aggravated. The skin was pink and puckering around it, but there was no sign of infection. No blood. No open wound. 

Reid met his eyes, the corners of his mouth curving up in bewilderment. “She… Whatever Elle did, she… this is _ weeks _ of healing in one night,” he whispered.

Derek had to admit, he was amazed, too. He’d seen how bad it had been, and now this… it almost looked good as new. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Not really.” Reid bent his leg a little and only gave a small wince. “Kinda stiff, the skin feels about as tight as it looks right there, but… fine. It feels fine.”

“Think you can climb down the side of a ship like that?”

“Definitely,” he said - but his voice cracked at the end of the word. He swallowed and cleared his hoarse throat.

Derek grinned. “Want me to get you some water, Pretty Boy?”

“That’d be great.” Even in the darkness of the healing hut, Reid’s small smile lit up Derek’s whole world. 

It was a bit too much light to handle all at once, so he rose from his crouch and headed for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Reid smiled again. “I won’t.”

_ God, I’m so in love with you. _

Derek stowed away that particular sentiment carefully in his heart. Instead of voicing it - which he really felt like he was about to do, given that he technically already had - he just gave him a smile and slipped out the door.

_ I mean it, though. _

_ And I’m never leaving you again._

* * *

Most of the rest of the group hadn’t gone to bed yet. Derek tipped them off as to Reid’s awakening, and they all stopped by to check up on him. JJ cursed herself for not sticking around a few hours longer, but all was lighthearted. And everyone seemed equally baffled by the effectiveness of Elle’s accelerated healing.

The following morning, Reid was up and walking, completely independently. Elle seemed quite pleased with her own handiwork and told him that he shouldn’t require any more of her aid. The last of it would scar itself up with time.

Still, Derek stuck by his side as Reid got himself situated in one of the huts and began poking around the settlement, talking to the witches and asking all kinds of questions. His dark eyes absolutely lit up as they talked about medicinal plants and witchcraft and wards and aura channelling. Derek couldn’t follow most of what they were saying, but that was hardly anything new when it came to Reid. Still, satisfied and deeming him perfectly safe in their company, Derek left him to it.

And so, their stay on Greenaway began.

Day after day after day. Sunup, sundown. Meals were hunted and gathered from the surrounding rainforest and cooked over spits or in large kettles. The crew of the _ Redwing _ sparred with one another, took naps by the riverbank, played makeshift games in the huts and around the campfires at night. Talking, laughing, relaxing.

The witches had a storehouse on a hill a little further inland. There, some of the trees had been cut down in a clearing that sloped up from the riverbank until it came to an old stone building that seemed to be some long-abandoned mill. Inside were barrels of gunpowder, various artillery shots from cannonballs to chain shots, and an assortment of muskets and pistols. 

Emily could barely contain her excitement.

“Why do you have all this stuff?” Reid asked the witch while Emily, Penelope, and JJ went hunting through the trove. “I thought witches were pacifists.”

“Who told you that?” Elle raised an eyebrow. At Reid’s expression, she smirked. “We’re in tune with the balance of the natural world, yes, but that doesn’t do us very good if we’re up against an armada of armed witch hunters, does it? We keep this here as a last resort. In case the wards fail and we’re forced to defend ourselves. Of course, the cannonballs won’t be of much help without a cannon at our disposal, so you can take as many of those as you need.” She smirked a little wider. “We’re not pacifists, no.”

He nodded. “Ah.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile a little. Reid had finally gotten his hands on a razor at some point after he’d woken up, as well as a bar of soap to wash the travel out of his hair. He’d also exchanged the ratty outfit he’d been abducted in for the same sort of clothes the rest of the men wore - white shirt, simple tunic, boots - and it was a feat of Derek’s constitution not to stare at him for too long. 

_ Beautiful. _

Reid always seemed to look beautiful to him, that wasn’t anything new, but with his hair all brushed and pulled back and his face clean-shaven again… _ had he always looked so good? Had the corners of his mouth always turned up like that when he smiled? Am I somehow only noticing all of this now, or is now just the first time I’m actually _ letting _ myself notice it? _

He couldn’t recall a time before when he’d looked at the governor’s nephew and been so goddamn… _ attracted. _

“Look!” Penelope suddenly exclaimed from a corner of the space, where half the wall had caved in on itself. She lifted a long, metal object. “Grappling hooks.”

“How many?” Emily’s head popped up from the other side of the room.

“Enough to grab onto a ship and haul her in for boarding,” the captain grinned. “Oh, friends, we are going to kick major butt on the high seas.”

“Which is when, exactly?” Derek asked, crossing his arms.

Penelope just waved at him. “Whenever I say it is, Hotness. I still haven’t gotten my tan back.”

“You don’t tan, you just burn,” JJ teased from where she was sighting down the barrel of a musket.

“I do tan! I just have to get horrifically burned first in order to do so.”

“You know,” Reid piped up, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Recent studies have shown that excessive exposure to sunburns in one’s youth make a person _ many _ times more susceptible to certain types of cancers of the skin, which can effectively shave years off your life in the long run -”

“Listen, Boy Wonder,” the captain said, “I use the sun ointment. Most of the time. When I remember.”

He just raised his eyebrows with a grin. “I’m just saying, keep an eye on how much sun you’re exposing yourself to.”

“And I’m just saying, I’m here for a good time, not a long time. Although ideally I _ would _like it to be both, I suppose.”

“Use the sun ointment, and it will.”

Penelope stuck out her tongue in his direction. Reid stuck his out right back. Derek’s heart stumbled a little in response. _ He’s adorable. _

_ I wonder if he likes _ my _ facial hair. I mean, his was nice, but I think I might like him better without. What does he think of mine? Does he think it looks good? I mean, _ I _ think it does, but does _ he _ like it - _

“Anyway,” Elle said, deadpan, “If and when you’ve gotten yourself tan enough to your liking, Penelope, come find me before you go. My scrying table will always be ready so you can track down Cat Adams.”

“Thank you, Elle,” JJ beamed.

Penelope’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “What do you mean, _ if _ I get myself tan?” But Elle was already gone.

With their new arsenal of weapons and the _ Redwing _’s cannons effectively stocked, the crew was freed of any remaining obligations while on the island - which simply meant that they were free to do as they pleased as the days and nights passed by.

The day after they raided Elle’s stores, Derek was practicing his swordplay against Tara on the strip of beach where the sand had been packed hard by the waves. He considered himself a pretty competent swordsman, but Tara was too, and they matched each other virtually blow for blow. The clang of their weapons rang across the beach.

Until someone approached.

Derek recognized Reid before Tara did, and his heart soared. “Hey, Reid,” he said, tipping up his chin and relaxing his battle stance.

“Hey,” the governor’s nephew said. “Sorry if I’m interrupting -”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Tara assured him, sheathing her sword by her side. “I was just about to beat him, anyway.”

“Hey, whoa there,” Derek retorted. “She was not. I had her right where I wanted her, trust me.”

Tara just flicked her eyebrows. “You saved his ego showing up when you did,” she smirked at Reid. “So. What’s up?”

He shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets. “I, uh…” he said, “I wanted to talk to Morgan about something, actually.”

Tara looked at him, and Derek ignored the way his heart thudded after hearing those words. “Sure, kid, we were… just finishing up,” he said as nonchalantly as possible. “Right, Tara?”

“Yeah, I’ll leave you guys to it,” she said, stepping backwards across the sand. She patted Reid on the shoulder as she passed him. “Be nice to him, Reid. He’s just embarrassed because he knows I would have beaten him.”

“Hey.” He pointed a teasing finger her way as she strode away, trying to ignore the fact that his heart rate still had yet to calm down since the moment he’d first spotted the man approaching. “Rematch. You and me. Tomorrow.”

“Done.”

Derek smirked at her back before finally putting his hands on his hips and turning to Reid. “So,” he said. “You, uh… wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah,” he said. He glanced down at the sand flecking his newly acquired boots. “It’s… kind of relating to that sparring you were just doing.”

“Yeah?”

He finally met Derek’s gaze - and there was a determined set to his dark eyes. “I want to learn how to shoot a gun,” he said.

Derek blinked. He wasn’t sure _ what _ he was expecting, but it clearly hadn’t been combat advice. _ You need to calm down. It’s just Reid. _“You’ve… never shot a gun before?”

“I’ve never had a reason to.” 

Reid’s gaze was steady, but now Derek felt a little uncomfortable. _ Of course he hasn’t. He’s spent his days safe in a manor up until now. He had soldiers to protect him. _

_ Right up until he was kidnapped by the most threatening rising pirate on the high seas. Kidnapped and held for ransom with nothing but his wits to defend him. _

_ Right. _

“But I… I feel like I should be able to contribute when we go up against Cat,” he said, brushing past that bit with renewed conviction. “I _ want _ to be able to contribute. I want to take her down for everything she did to us. And I know fine swordplay isn’t going to be particularly effective in a full-out battle with a bunch of pirates.” He shrugged again. “So… I was hoping you could help me out a little.”

Derek was already nodding. “Sure,” he said. “Yeah, definitely, what do you need help with?”

“It’s mostly just the firing that I’m getting used to,” he said. “I mean, I know how to load the powder and push it down and you cock the lever and aim and pull the trigger and all that, that’s all pretty straightforward, it’s mostly just the calculations I need to get down.” He nodded. “And… the aiming.”

“The…” Derek suddenly frowned. He wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, did you say the _ calculations? _”

He nodded, perfectly serious. “Yeah, you know, like calculating the direction and speed of the wind between you and your target, compensating for air resistance and the arc of the bullet, gauging distances… They never mentioned any of that in the books I’ve read, I guess it’s just something that people trained with firearms inherently _ know _ , but _ I’m _not trained with firearms and I just need to figure out when exactly during the process you do all that.”

Derek stared at him for a long while. “You… don’t,” he finally told him.

Reid frowned. “What?” 

“I… don’t think I’ve ever compensated for _ air resistance _ in my entire life.”

“You haven’t?”

“No,” he said, a grin widening on his face. It was a reflexive response, really. Reid just made him smile.

Reid himself, on the other hand, only looked more and more disturbed. “Then how are you supposed to -”

“Reid, you just aim the gun and fire,” he said. “There’s not much else to it. I guess if the wind is especially brisk, you might want to compensate a little for that, but you’re… you’re putting way too much thought into this.” He gave his shoulder a friendly cuff.

“But how am I expected to _ not _ think about it?” he frowned. “You can’t just throw physics to the wind and hope for the best.”

“That’s what I do.”

“See, I don’t buy that.”

“Why not? It’s really that simple.”

“I mean, you sure _ make _ it look simple, but… are you positive you don’t just do all those calculations _ really quick _ while you’re aiming, and you’re just so used to it you don’t even notice it anymore? And I just need to work on getting faster at it?”

Derek shook his head. “I’m really pretty sure you’re fine, kid.”

“Because I just can’t see how you could possibly hit whatever you’re aiming at without all of that.” A thought seemed to strike him, and he went with it. “Like when you shot Wilkins, you took him down in seconds after he pulled his pistol on me.”

Derek felt his grin fade from his face as he recalled the exact situation Reid was talking about. The docks, the gangplank, the sight of his face after so long.

The gunshot that split through the air.

And through his heart.

“I…” he admitted slowly, not feeling quite so confident anymore, “I wasn’t really thinking when that happened. I just… just moved, you know?”

“Oh,” Reid said, the mood sombering. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Trust me, I… I wasn’t doing any sort of rational thinking then.”

He angled his head to the side in consideration. “I still thought it was impressive,” he mumbled. His shoulders seemed to curve in a little more and he didn’t look up from their shoes as he said it.

_ Impressive? _ Derek’s smile was starting to come back, just at the way he said that word. _ He thinks I’m impressive. _“Well,” he replied, “Thanks… for saying that.”

“Thank you for doing it.” There were those eyes again, beautiful dark eyes, the hint of a smile on those lips -

Derek forcefully tore his attention away from where it had been lingering too long on those same lips. _His lips?_ _Holy hell… _

“So,” he said, louder than necessary, “Uh… firearms?”

“Yeah,” Reid nodded. “Firearms.”

“You don’t… have one, do you?”

“Have a…?” Derek went to repeat himself, but the answer seemed to dawn on Reid a second later. “Right. No, no, I… don’t. Do… you?”

“Yeah, I mean… the…” Derek’s face was getting hotter for some reason, and he was fairly certain it wasn’t from the sun. Hastily, he fumbled at his sides for the sheath he knew was still there on his belt. “You know, here, take…” he pulled out the revolver and turned it around in his palm so he could offer it to him handle first. “Take… this one.”

“A revolver?” Reid took it from him. Curled his fingers around the grip and marveled at the craftsmanship once it was in his hand, tracing the smooth metal of the barrel with his fingertips. He frowned up at Derek. “Isn’t this yours?”

Derek wasn’t sure why his breath was catching all of a sudden. He played it down. Clearly, Reid had no idea what he was doing to him. _ Why does he have to just be so beautiful? _ “Technically it’s Penelope’s,” he said, “But it’s yours now because I say so. Now. This’ll probably be a good one for you, since you won’t have to reload it as often - but you _ will _ only have five shots, so you gotta make ‘em count.”

“Yeah, I still don’t know how to do that,” Reid said, turning the gun this way and that in his hand as he continued to study it, his brows furrowed in concentration. _ Cute. _

_ Stop it. _

But he wasn’t sure he _ wanted _to stop it, actually.

“It’s not as hard as you think it is,” he said, reaching for it. “Here, it’s loaded - _ don’t _ point that at me, Jesus Christ, I just said it’s loaded.”

“Sorry,” he exclaimed, aiming the barrel down at the sand where it belonged.

Derek exhaled. “No worries, no worries. Just keep the barrel facing the ground until you’re ready to actually shoot, okay? Alright. So.” He positioned himself right beside Reid and held up his hands as he spoke. “When you want to shoot a gun, you want both hands on it at all times, okay?”

“You shot Wilkins one-handed.”

“Now, that… that is an advanced move. You’re not there yet,” he insisted. “Hold up the gun like you’re gonna shoot… right, like that. Now you want your other hand underneath it to support it. Like…”

Before he even realized what he was doing, Derek took hold of Reid’s other hand and guided it to its proper spot beneath the other. He covered his hands with his own as they both held the gun. The calluses on both of his palms brushed over the soft backs of Reid’s hands.

Reid stared at him. Openly. Wordlessly.

Derek immediately forgot what he had just been doing as he stared back. He’d taken a step closer to him to adjust his hands, and now they were practically touching, shoulder to shoulder, hip against hip, one of Derek’s feet placed almost right between Reid’s. For a split second, it was just the two of them, forgetting how to breathe. 

Close.

_ Very _ close.

It came to Derek’s attention that Reid’s face was also very close, and that it was actually rather red at the moment. _ How did I miss that red across his face when he first showed up today? He looks like he got burned by the sun pretty severely… why didn’t I notice that red on his face earlier… why am I only noticing it now… _

And then the split second was over, and Derek took a healthy step back, his heart pounding. “Like that,” he said, forcing a smile. “Perfect.”

The sunburn on Reid’s face was _ definitely _ more noticeable now as he nodded a little belatedly. _ Right? That’s sunburn, right? _ “Great,” he said.

Derek studied his form and pretended like his face wasn’t getting violently heated. “Uh,” he said, “And… relax your shoulders a little, you’re pretty tensed up right now.”

“I am?” he squeaked.

“Yeah, just… relax.” He reached out with both hands and pressed them gently on his shoulders to get them down from where they had been locked. Reid watched his hands as he touched him.

Derek lifted them away and cleared his throat. _ This definitely isn’t sunburn. Sunburn doesn’t make your heart flip over in your ribs whenever you touch someone. He looks uncomfortable. I’m making him uncomfortable. Shit… _“Sorry,” he said, “Just… before we go on, are you… are you good with me touching you right now? Just ‘cause, I don’t really know how else to adjust -”

“No, it’s fine, you’re… you’re good, don’t worry about me,” he smiled. He seemed almost breathless. “Just… show me how to handle a gun. Any way you have to.”

_ If I’m blushing because of being so close to him, but he’s blushing too… _“Great,” he nodded. “Just… just checking. Okay. Well, uh… I guess next, you want to make sure your dominant arm - the one with the finger over the trigger - is always straight. Keep this elbow locked.” He tapped it gently with a fingertip, then copied his stance to demonstrate as if he, too, were holding out a gun. “Your other elbow is probably going to bend a little, that’s okay. Just as long as the other’s nice and solid.”

“Okay.” Reid nodded and copied him exactly.

A grin spread across Derek’s face. “Good. You’re looking good, kid, you’re…” Suddenly, he found himself tripping over his words again. “You look good,” he murmured.

“Thanks,” he said back.

“And you… you know how to pull a trigger, obviously. There’s gonna be some kickback when you do, so be ready for that - but that gun is pretty small, so it shouldn’t be too bad. You should be fine.”

“Got it.”

“Okay.” Derek nodded his head in the direction of the treeline not far off, where a large log had toppled over onto the beach, most of its upper boughs broken and worn off by many, many high tides. The highest boughs were half-covered in the thick sand. At that moment, the tide only lapped at the wood that still showed above it. “I think you’re ready to try it out,” he said. “Try aiming for that fallen log right there.”

Reid nodded and took aim, scrunching up his face in concentration. Derek swallowed - there was something extremely attractive about seeing him wield a firearm. He wasn’t sure why, but he definitely liked it. 

Part of him was still chastising him for staring and admitting those truths to himself, but he discovered it was getting easier and easier to ignore it. 

It turned out that Derek had a fair amount of time to stare at Reid with that gun in his hand, because Reid took a while to actually pull the trigger. He could almost see the other man’s brain working, analyzing, calculating his shot, and he smirked to himself. _ He’s still thinking way too hard. _

And sure enough, when the gun fired and jerked his arms from the kickback, not a single scratch appeared on the dark, worn bark of the log.

Reid blinked. “That didn’t do anything,” he frowned, looking down at the gun in his hand. “What caliber is this?”

“That’s okay, you just missed,” Derek couldn’t help but grin. He crossed his arms. “But hold up, be honest with me for a second. Did you or did you not try to calculate anything just now?”

“I felt a breeze,” he muttered.

_ Of course he did. _ “Okay. Well, breezes are not something you really gotta worry about too much. Just try again,” he assured him. Reid took a deep breath and lifted the gun again to aim. And again, after he hesitated, his shot ended up in the sand further down, sending it spraying. Derek narrowed his eyes playfully. “I can see you thinking, Pretty Boy, quit thinking. You just gotta _ feel _it.”

“I’m _ feeling _like an idiot,” he grumbled.

“No, you’re just thinking too much. It’s that big brain of yours getting in your own way. Just try again, no worries.”

Reid tried again and again, emptying the five chambers without a single hit on the trunk of the log. Most of his shots went wide, a few dug into the sand. They took a break to reload it, and Derek instructed him on the best way to do that. 

Their fingers brushed once or twice throughout that process, and every single time they did, it sent a line of heat shooting up Derek’s hand and arm until it made his heartbeat stop.

When the revolver was finally loaded again, Reid tried again. Derek made sure to encourage him throughout, gently adjusting his hands and shoulders and even his stance. The shots rang down the beach.

And then, with a resounding _ crack _ , one of the bullets ripped a chunk of wood off the log. “ _ Oh _,” Reid exclaimed, his mouth falling open.

“There it is!” Derek shouted. “Nice shot, Reid!”

“Thanks,” he beamed breathlessly. His shock was quickly turning to euphoria. “That felt… good.”

Derek elbowed him. “See? You don’t need to think too hard. Did you feel it?”

“I think so. Maybe.”

“That’s good, that’s good.”

They reloaded a few more times after that first hit. The longer they kept at it, the more consistent Reid got with his aim - and the faster he was able to aim, too. He got off a few more solid shots on the log. Some just skimmed the bark, but a few wedged themselves deep into the wood.

After a while, Derek patted him on the shoulder, his heart swelling with pride. “I think that’s a solid start for today. We can work on it more later,” he said.

“Okay,” Reid beamed at him. “Thanks, Morgan.”

“Anytime,” he replied. Reid suddenly offered him the little revolver, and Derek furrowed his brows. “What are you doing?”

“Giving it back,” he said, offering it again.

Derek waved his hands. “No, no, no, I _ gave _ that to you, remember?” he told him. “It’s your gun, now.”

“But -”

“Listen, are we going to have the same discussion we did when you tried to pay me extra for that most recent sword I made you?” He pushed the weapon back towards Reid. “Take it. I can get myself another from the mill stockpile. Revolvers aren’t really my thing, anyway.”

“Oh,” Reid said, finally accepting it back. “Right, the… sword. Thank you.”

“Like I said. Anytime.” He patted him on the shoulder and started off for the treeline, where a path led through the forest and back to the witches’ camp.

But Reid didn’t follow him. After he’d taken a few steps, Derek heard him say, “Morgan?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

Reid suddenly looked nervous again, nervous like his brain was working on something, and it was bothering him. His dark eyes were downcast. Derek suddenly felt a pang of concern - _ Is something wrong? _

“You good?” he asked.

Reid pressed his lips together, but then finally said what it was he was struggling to say. 

“I… I didn’t lose the swords.”

Derek suddenly went very still. The waves washed gently on the beach but they were drowned out by the memory that rose to the surface of his mind, that memory from belowdecks… _ “Oh, and all the other times _ were _ your fault?” _

Reid swallowed as he continued to speak. “Any of them,” he explained quietly. “I just… felt like I needed to tell you that at some point. I’ve been trying to find a good time to do it for… for a while, now.”

He just looked at him. Reid was still keeping his gaze fixed on the ground. Derek’s heart rate had picked up again, adrenaline mounting higher… _ He never gave me an answer the first time, he never told me why… why he commissioned me all the time… _ “So…” he hazarded, “If you… didn’t lose them, why…”

“Because I wanted…” his blush was back. With a vengeance. He took a breath. “To see… you. More often.”

Derek’s heart stilled.

“I just… couldn’t come up with a better way to do that,” Reid was admitting, now suddenly rambling, still not meeting his eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d come if it was just… just me. I didn’t want you to feel like I was taking time away from your work.”

“I would have come,” Derek said softly.

“I know. I… I know that now, I was just… just unsure back then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Still am,” he murmured.

Three paces placed Derek back in front of him. He almost put a hand on his shoulder - but _ now _ , he hesitated. And he did not overrule it this time. Something was different, now. Something just suddenly became more _ real _\- though he wasn’t sure exactly what, seeing as Reid really hadn’t really said anything terribly earth-shattering - but Derek still didn’t know how to proceed. 

“I get it,” was all he said, because… he did get it. Feeling unsure. He felt unsure right now, as Reid finally managed to look him in the eye despite the uncertainty reddening his cheeks.

_ If I told you I loved you right now… _

“Anyway,” Reid mumbled, “I… just wanted to tell you that I… yeah.” He nodded.

“Yeah,” Derek nodded back. _ I’m not going to say that. Not yet. Something’s definitely different, now, but I’m not ready to go there yet. _

_ I don’t think he’s quite ready, either… if I’m reading him right. If all of this, everything, means what I’m starting to think it means… If it means that somehow, against all odds, in some unfathomable way… _

_ He and I fell in love with each other at the same time. _

That thought was too much to dare hope right then. Instead, Derek tipped his chin in the direction of the woods. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna go help Luke find some firewood for that bonfire tonight,” he said.

“What?” Reid blinked, but the recollection hit him a second later. “Oh, right, yeah. Uh, cool.”

Penelope and JJ had organized a full-crew bonfire on the beach for that night. Already, a bit further down the beach, Luke and Matt had snagged Tara and were beginning a pile of wood, ducking into the jungle to find fallen branches and boughs. They would need more help. “Yeah. So, I’ll… just go,” Derek said.

“Okay. Yeah, go ahead.” Reid seemed to suddenly remember the revolver in his hand, and went to hand it over as a reflex, but caught himself. “Ah… right. Thanks again.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like I said…” 

Reid just nodded. “So, I’ll… see you tonight, I guess.”

“Yeah. See you.”

And Derek ducked under a low-hanging branch as he stepped into the jungle, still sorting through everything that had just happened, and the countless directions things could possibly go now that he’d touched him like that and he’d said those words in response.

And that simply opened up the bigger question: _ Where do I _ want _ things to go? _

More and more with Reid, Derek felt like he was hovering at the edge of a knife - and he was about to fall in one direction or another.

_ The question isn’t whether or not I’m going to fall anymore. At this point, it’s only a matter of which direction I go when I do._

* * *

The sun sank over the island and the crew of the _ Redwing _ lit their fire on the beach.

Logs and spare crates were set up in a wide circle around the leaping yellow flames. Food storages were cracked open for the event. Everyone was there, chattering and laughing and unloading many, many bottles of rum from their hay-filled crates.

Derek spread his arms as he strode across the sand, grinned. “Hey, now this is my kind of party,” he grinned.

Penelope rose from where she was rooting through a crate with a bottle in each hand, beaming just as brightly. Her skirt was a soft powder blue that went very nicely with her brown corset. “Take a bottle,” she insisted. “Glad you could make it.”

“I managed to clear my schedule.” Penelope handed him one of her bottles and he raised his eyebrows. “A whole bottle, huh? For me?”

“Of course! Everyone gets one. This is the _ good _ stuff, too, we’re going _ all out _ for this bonfire party.” She pulled out another and handed it across the crate to Tara.

Derek uncorked his but didn’t drink from it yet. He scanned the faces surrounding him, equally lit by the waning sunlight and the growing fire. Searching. He felt suddenly detached when he couldn’t find the face he really wanted, even as Penelope and Tara and JJ broke into laughter over something one of them said.

_ Where’s… _

“Spence!” JJ beamed. 

Derek, despite the way his insides lurched upon hearing that name, didn’t turn around the second he heard it. Instead, he took a tentative swig of his drink as the man in question approached him off to his side and offered him a casual smile instead. 

“Hey,” Reid said to the first mate.

She lifted her bottle. “Come on down, help yourself.”

Penelope’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Boy Wonder! You’re here! I feel like I haven’t seen you for days.”

“He’s been hanging out with the witches,” JJ grinned.

“Ah. Trying to become one yourself, eh?” the captain cuffed him lightly on the arm.

Reid just laughed and shook his head. “No, I’m just fascinated by the knowledge this community possesses, actually. Honestly, some of the stuff they know could be _ vastly _ beneficial on the mainland, the extent of their knowledge on midwifery and reproductive health alone is _ leaps _ ahead of our modern procedures -”

“Oookay, I’m gonna… I’m gonna stop you right there,” Penelope said, wincing playfully and making an ‘X’ shape with her hands. “I have not had _ nearly _ enough rum to be talking about midwifery this early in the night.”

“I’ll second that,” JJ said. “Sorry, Spence.”

Reid flicked his eyebrows, but Derek kept an eye on him. _ I would have kept listening, if you kept talking… _

“Here.” Penelope shoved a bottle into Reid’s chest, and he blinked, scrambling to catch it before it fell to the sand. She got onto her tip-toes - as much as she could in her high-heeled boots - and patted the top of his head before waltzing over to another group of crewmates. “Snag a seat and drink up.”

“Oh, no, I don’t… drink,” he said weakly after her, eyeing the liquid in the glass. 

“You do tonight,” she grinned over her shoulder.

“Have you ever tried rum before?” JJ asked him.

He frowned. “No. I’ve drunk wine before, but not a whole bottle.”

JJ winced and shared a look with Derek before she turned back to Reid and said, “Well, rum is… an acquired taste.”

“Sounds great. I think I’ll pass.”

Derek waved a hand - the one his own bottle was still held in. “Aw, don’t be like that, kid. It’s not that bad,” he assured him with a half smile of his own. “You’ll get used to it.”

“You _ do _get used to it,” JJ nodded.

Reid just pressed his lips together and considered the liquid again. “I just can’t get past the fact that alcohol like this is often used for medicinal procedures as a disinfectant…”

_ He’s so cute. _ But, really, the more Reid hedged around it, the more Derek was interested to see just how the governor’s nephew would react to his first taste of rum. “Just try it, you’ll like it,” he assured him. He took a drink of his own and raised his eyebrows at him as if to say, _ See? _

Reid’s eyes flicked between Derek and JJ’s encouraging faces, then back down at the bottle in his hands. “Are you sure?”

“At least give it a try,” JJ suggested.

He sighed, long and hesitant. He pulled out the cork. Looked down the bottleneck. Sniffed it and scrunched up his nose. “I think that just scorched off ever hair in my sinuses,” he frowned. “Are you sure this is safe to -”

“Just drink it, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned. _ Oh, this will definitely be interesting. _

Reid just frowned his way and raised the lip of the bottle to his mouth. He tipped it up the barest inch, only enough to let a small sip in.

His face immediately screwed up in shock and disgust and he wrenched the bottle away, covering his mouth with the back of his other hand to keep himself from spitting it out.

Derek and JJ erupted into giggles.

Reid forced himself to swallow what little of the drink he managed to taste and shook his head violently. “You guys are _ deranged _ ,” he exclaimed. “You drink this for _ fun?! _”

“You get used to it,” Derek crowed, unable to check his grin. 

“I said it’s an acquired taste,” JJ said.

“Oh, an _ acquired taste?! _ It tastes like I’m drinking _ actual _chemical disinfectant straight out of the tumbler.” He thrust his bottle Derek’s way. “Here, you take this.”

“Whoa, hey, listen, one whole bottle is plenty for me, don’t give that to me,” he said. “You hold onto that in case you get thirsty later on.”

“It might grow on you,” JJ said. “Took a while for me to get used to it, too.”

“Alcohol actually draws water _ out _ of your system, so it’ll only make you more dehydrated,” Reid muttered - but, to his credit, he didn’t pour it out onto the sand and just tucked it in the crook of his arm.

Suddenly, a chorus of _ “Emily!” _ erupted from one side of the group, drawing all of their attention. Derek, Reid, and JJ immediately came over to see the newcomer.

Emily waved as she approached across the sand, and accepted the rum that Penelope handed to her. “You’re up! Let’s see, let’s see it!” Penelope insisted, gesturing animatedly at the woman’s arm.

“Oh, you can barely tell there was anything there, now,” she beamed, rolling up her sleeve to reveal a faint, white mark on her arm where bandages and a half-healed bullet wound used to be. Everyone craned in to see.

Emily had taken advantage of Elle’s healing abilities earlier that day to fix up her wound from Cat’s ambush, and she’d been asleep since the afternoon. Clearly, Elle had worked her magic yet again during that time.

“That’s no fair,” Reid remarked to Emily. “I got healed and I was out for at least five or six hours longer than you.”

The woman shrugged and let down her sleeve again. “I told you mine wasn’t as serious as yours,” she said. “You were the one who chose not to believe me.”

“I had plenty of reason not to believe you, actually -”

Derek just patted him on the shoulder, breaking his focus. “Now’s the time when you just take a drink and back down, kid,” he advised. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Emily Prentiss by now, it’s that when she’s got that smirk on her face, there’s _ no _ winning against her.”

Reid narrowed his eyes at Derek’s guileless look, but did drop the argument he was about to launch into. He didn’t take a drink just then, though. Emily just smirked wider.

The sun sank into the waves and the sky darkened rapidly after that. The fire in the center of the circle threw long, flickering shadows onto the sand and across the grinning, laughing faces of everyone gathered. Someone had brought a few small instruments, and there was music and dancing and singing. 

Derek let his few swigs of rum loosen him up a bit. He danced with Penelope, Tara, and Emily in a bout of a partner-switching round. Smiles came easily for all around, and easier still once the rum had time to start kicking in.

He kind of wished Reid would join in the circles of sweeping arms and swinging hair and sand scuffing beneath boots, but he just stood on the outskirts holding his bottle and beaming nonetheless. 

Kate Callahan eventually grabbed him by the hand and tried to pull him in by force, but he resisted at first, asserting that he was having plenty of fun just watching. She refused to have any of that. After much struggling, he finally gave in, set his bottle on the sand, and let Kate drag him in for a dance.

Smiling that beautiful, adorable smile of his.

Derek considered trying to manipulate his way between the partner exchanges to get closer to Reid, but he debated against it. He was still a little unsure about where exactly the two of them stood after their sparring lesson earlier that day. The touching, the closeness, the heat on both of their faces… the way Reid had said, _ Because I wanted to see you more often _… 

He spun Penelope before him, breaking his concentration. She lifted an eyebrow at him as they moved through the motions of the dance. “Distracted?” she teased.

“No,” he said.

“Liar.” Penelope grinned. “Want to dance with him?”

His heart gave a sudden - but not altogether unpleasant - thud. “I mean… yeah,” he admitted in a murmur over the laughter and music, “But -”

“No buts. You just leave that to me, I got you covered.”

“What? Wait, Babygirl -”

But she had already swept them in a turn, they were coming up on a partner change soon, sand shifted under his feet as she pulled him along and made it look like part of the dance, Derek barely managed not to trip as they moved between the pairs, the music built up to a key change, brown hair flashed into his line of sight -

And then Penelope let go of his hands and everyone separated, turning, reaching hands for the next partner -

And Derek’s hands connected clumsily into Reid’s.

Both of them blinked in the shock of seeing the other, of suddenly being forced close together, palms and fingers, wide dark eyes, lips parted in surprise. But the dance didn’t stop, and Derek pulled him out of the way of another pair, trying to resume the dance.

“Hey,” Derek attempted to say, cracking a nervous smile as they went through the motions.

“Hey,” Reid said back, somewhat breathlessly. His gaze flicked to their clumsily-joined hands, and he took that moment to interlace their fingers properly before another turn came up.

His palms were warm. Soft, so unlike Derek’s. His heart fluttered and warmth swept up his face, but… maybe his drink was starting to affect him, but he liked this. Dancing.

So they danced.

Hands intertwined, matching step for step. Dancing with a man wasn’t really all that different from dancing with a woman, Derek noted - and Reid was a very good dancer. _ Nephew of the governor of Port Quantico, and all. _ Still, Derek tried his best to hold up, even spinning him once. That got a laugh out of Reid, and to Derek, it was the prettiest sound in the world. He grinned so hard, his face ached.

_ I love him. _

No one in the crew gave him and Reid a second glance - everyone was too loose from the rum to particularly care who anyone was dancing with. Penelope had snagged Tara and was letting the taller woman spin her about on the sand. Derek even caught sight of Emily, who had ended up in JJ’s arms, and he could have sworn the commodore looked almost as flustered to be dancing with another woman as Derek must have looked dancing with another man. But both of them were smiling nonetheless. 

He brought his attention back to Reid, _ Reid _, dancing a mere handbreadth away from him, beaming in the firelight, and let himself get lost in his arms.

As the dancing wound down, everyone eventually migrated back to the logs and crates around the fire - and to their respective bottles of rum. Kate was already on her second and was still going strong. Derek admired her ability to hold her liquor. He’d only drunk a third of his - just enough to put him at ease without really affecting him too much.

Reid sat beside him on his log. They caught each other’s gazes. And they exhaled in breathless, happy laughter, their faces pink from the exertion.

_ And from the feeling of his hands in mine… for me, at least. _

_ If only I knew whether he… _

Penelope raised her bottle of rum to the star-flecked sky. “I propose a game!” she called. “Who’s in?” She was met with cheers and lifted bottles. 

“What game?” Luke called.

She grinned and tipped up her chin. “A toast?”

“Yes!” More cheers.

Matt gestured in Kate’s direction across the fire. “No one say anything that’s gonna get Kate to drink any more,” he laughed.

“I think you’re jealous of my drink-holding skills, Simmons,” Kate jeered back playfully.

Reid looked at Derek, utterly confused at what was happening. “Wait, wait, what’s going on?” he asked. “What game are we playing?”

“A Toast,” Derek grinned. He loved this game. “Someone stands up and says something they’ve done, and toasts anyone else who’s done it, and if you’re one of those people you take a drink with them.”

“So it’s a drinking game.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Great.”

Derek glanced his way as Reid tapped a considering finger against the glass of his bottle. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” he said. “I know rum’s not your thing -”

“No, I want to play,” he nodded. “I’ll play. I’ll survive. Like you said, I’ll probably get used to the toxicity sooner or later,” he said, cracking a smile.

Derek elbowed him. “Well,” he said, “That’s the spirit.”

Penelope put a knee up on her log and held out her bottle in front of her to draw all attention back to her for the start of the game. “A toast!” she called over the din of chattering and lighthearted taunting. “We’ll start with a simple one. A toast… to those who have been to this island before.”

JJ flicked her eyebrows and took a drink, along with a few other people around the fire.

Derek leaned over. “So, since neither of us have been here before, we don’t drink. You’re off the hook.”

“For now,” Reid smirked.

“For now,” he grinned back. “And now, once everything calms down again, whoever’s next to Penelope gives the next toast.”

As he spoke, Penelope sat herself down and Tara stood up. “A toast,” she called, “To those who held a _ legal _ job before coming along on this adventure.”

“And see, now I drink,” Derek said, doing so. The firelight glimmered off the glass and the dark liquid inside. He raised his eyebrows at Reid. “See how this works?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. 

Kevin stood up next. “A toast!” he declared. “To those who have ever had a ship to their name.”

“No fair!” JJ teased. “Pick something more of us can relate to! We want to drink!” Several others loudly echoed her complaint.

“_ I _like his pick just fine, angel, calm down,” Penelope insisted, 

“Hear, hear,” Emily grinned, joining the captain in taking a drink. JJ rolled her eyes and gave Emily a playful shove. 

Tara narrowed her eyes up at Kevin. “You had a ship to your name?” she asked.

“It was a single mast,” he admitted morosely.

Beside him, Luke rose from his seat. “Alright, alright,” he said, attempting to calm the ruckus of the group. When it didn’t, he just spoke louder to be heard. “_ I’ll _ take your request into consideration, Jennifer Jareau. Here’s an easy one that most of us should be able to get a good swig in to - _ a toast to those have kissed a woman. _”

“_ Thank _ you!” the first mate beamed, and, meeting Penelope’s eyes for a knowing look, tipped back her bottle in tandem with her. Most of the circle shared in her enthusiasm and erupted into laughter and more talking as explanations were made and stories were told. Derek took a generous drink himself.

And beside him, with his shoulders curving in a tiny bit and his face screwing up from the taste, so did Reid, trying not to draw attention to himself.

Derek raised both eyebrows at him when Reid noticed that he’d been spotted anyway. “Okay, kid, spill,” Derek said. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“What?” he squeaked.

“You saying you kissed a girl before?”

Reid lowered his lashes, turning somewhat pink again… but the corner of his mouth tipped upwards in response. _ He has. _

_ Of course he has, who wouldn’t want to kiss him? _

Derek elbowed him playfully. “_ Well? _ You gotta tell me, I wanna know. Who was she?”

_ Do you still talk to her? Do you - _

“It was just one time, when I was eighteen,” Reid admitted, somewhat self-conscious but still smiling with the secret certainty of a person who’d gotten away with something. “Her name’s Lila Archer.”

“You still talk to her?” _ Please say no, please say no, please say no - _

“No. I haven’t heard from her for years. I think she’s married now, actually.”

Derek nodded. “And… how did your little liaison come about?”

“I met with some bankers on the mainland to haggle over my family’s lands and what to do with them, seeing as I was in charge of our finances with my dad gone and mom in the hospital,” he explained. “While I was there, the Archer family happened to be hosting a big party and invited all the well-to-do families. I figured I might as well represent the Reids - and see if I could run into any of those bankers and corner them one-on-one while I was there so they couldn’t gang up on me in a pack.”

“And instead of finding bankers, you found… Lila.”

He shrugged bashfully. “I’d seen her around, growing up. Our families weren’t super close, but we’d seen each other once or twice. We ended up talking all night, dancing… then we poked around the gardens to get away from the party.” His hands began gesturing while he spoke, the way he always did. “Her estate had these absolutely _ enormous _ sprawling gardens that backed onto a secluded lake. She, ah… she loved to swim, and she… invited me to come swim with her.”

“Swimming, huh?” Derek grinned, but there was something in his chest that was preventing him from feeling as enthusiastic as he sounded. Hearing Reid talk about this woman he’d apparently kissed…

“Yeah,” he said. “At first, I was against it, but she just… unlaced her dress right there while she was talking and dove right off the little dock in her petticoat. When I didn’t follow her in - I actually tried getting her to come back out - she made like she was resigning but then pulled _ me _into the water instead.”

“And, wait, are you still all dressed up when she does this?” 

“Yeah, I am, actually,” he laughed. “I mean, I’d left my coat at the door of her manor, but I was still in my best clothes. I complained a little, but… well… she ended up kissing me there in the lake. And… I kissed her, too.”

_ She’s a lucky girl, she’s a lucky girl, don’t feel jealous she’s just a lucky girl, that’s all… _

_ I wonder what it would be like, kissing Reid in a lake… _

_ Kissing Reid… _

Derek shook his head, forcing a smile. “Well,” he said. “That… is one _ hell _of a story. You sure you’re not making that up?”

“Why would I make it up? I don’t want to drink any more of this garbage than I have to, trust me,” he said.

“Fair enough.” Derek nodded. “First kiss in a private lake. I should have known it was something fancy like that. Only a rich, pretty boy like you could pull that off.”

“First and _ only _ kiss, and it wouldn’t have happened at all if she hadn’t yanked me in,” Reid added. He suddenly huffed a laugh. “Geez, I really seem to have a long history of being thrown into water by people I… uh…”

He didn’t finish that sentence. 

Derek tried not to stare at him, but still did out of the corner of his eye. Reid’s lips were pressed firmly together and he actually took another tiny sip of his alcohol, as if steeling himself.

_ People he… _

A sharp elbow in his other side interrupted his thoughts. Emily was pulling her own bottle away from her mouth. “What are you waiting for? Drink up,” she teased him. “Matt just asked for all the people born in Port Quantico.”

“What?” he blinked. He hadn’t even heard the _ Redwing’s _gunman speak over the roar of the group - and of his own thoughts. He took a swallow of his drink just to placate Emily.

But he glanced back at Reid, who was still averting his gaze, his face a little more reddened and his shoulders a little more curved. _ But he wasn’t born in Port Quantico. He was born on the mainland. _

_ Which means that drink he took in lieu of finishing whatever he was going to say… _

Again, Derek was reminded of the feeling of hovering on the edge of a knife. _ We keep edging closer and closer without actually taking the fall… _

He wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take. The frustration. The uncomfortable silences. The pining.

The desire for _ more _.

_ Just give me a little bit more… _

The game continued. It took longer and longer between toasts as the rum loosened tongues and lowered inhibitions all around them. Toasts were called over the din and laughter.

“A toast to those who can play an instrument - _ well _ , Luke, anyone who can play one _ well! _Put that bottle down!”

“A toast to those who’ve ever shot a man in battle!”

“A toast to those who prefer to be the _ lover _ in the bedroom, instead of the _ beloved! _”

Riotous laughter accompanied that one. 

And then it was Reid’s turn. He stood and lifted his drink - there was significantly less of it inside than had been when he started. He must have grown used to the taste. “A toast!” he called, smiling. “To anyone who’s been shot and survived!”

Whoops and flashing bottles all around. Reid sat back down with a generous sip, and Derek prodded him. “You only survived ‘cause of me,” he grinned.

“I still survived,” he laughed. “Take your drink, Morgan… oh, wait. You can’t, can you.”

“I think that rum’s going to your head, I didn’t think I’d see you gloating over _ you _ drinking but not _ me _.”

“I’m not gloating, this stuff is still terrible.”

“You’re almost halfway done!”

He gave him a shove. “Stand up and give your toast, you’re holding up the process.”

Derek rolled his eyes, rose, and immediately felt slightly lightheaded. He could usually hold his drink pretty well, but it was definitely starting to affect him, now. _ I guess it’s going to my head, too. _

Nevertheless, he toasted like it wasn’t. “A toast to those that have ever _ lost _a bar fight,” he declared. The drinks that everyone took were especially deep after that one, and the teasing was especially intense.

When he sat back down, Reid was staring at him. “You _ lost _a bar fight?” he exclaimed. 

Derek shrugged. “Believe it or not, it’s been done.”

“I _ don’t _ believe it, you’ve got muscles the size of my head! How did someone possibly get the best of _ you _?”

“Hey,” he insisted, his chest swelling with pride and affection from the open adoration, “Listen. The guy was _ huge _.”

“You should work out,” Reid said with a flick of his eyebrows.

Derek narrowed his eyes playfully. “Oh, you got jokes, now?” 

He just nodded with another one of those beautiful smiles, and Derek’s heart absolutely melted. 

Emily had already stood up, and she had to holler over the group. “A toast to those who’ve been healed by Elle of Greenaway!”

“Favoritism!” JJ called. 

“_ Fight me _,” Emily called right back, then immediately ducked and stumbled, cackling, when the woman slung a fistful of sand her way. Reid pulled his bottle away from his lips so he didn’t accidentally spit it out while laughing. 

“You watch yourself,” Derek chided. “You’re drinking almost as much as me.”

“I’m fine, I’ve got it under control,” he said with a wave of his hand. “My senses have not been impaired in _ any _ way. When _ you _ start feeling inhibited, let me know.”

Derek just flicked his eyebrows dubiously. “I’m just saying. I’ve been drunk before and I know how to pace myself. Also, you’re a lot thinner than I am so the rum you’ve got left is going to mess with you much faster than it will me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Morgan, I’ve studied toxicology and how the human body metabolizes various poisons. Relax,” he insisted. 

Despite his best interests, however, that knowledge didn’t do him nearly as much good as he claimed it would.

Derek had to admit, even _ he _lost track of the time as the game eventually dissolved and everyone just resorted back to drunken revelry under the stars in the light of the bonfire deep into the night, but it seemed to him that one moment Reid’s bottle was half full but almost empty the next. He hadn’t noticed much of a difference in the way Reid was acting - maybe he was talking faster, laughing louder and more often, his gestures sloppier and less distinct as he rambled off every random fact housed in his brain. He got into heated debates with Emily and Kate and Penelope, even towards the end when his words began sliding into one another. 

But he never stopped smiling. In fact, Derek didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile so easily and unabashedly and freely. It was like being in the presence of a divine being, his smile and his eyes and his lips and his hands and the bare skin of his forearms with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and the hair that came loose of its tie and caressed his cheekbone and made Derek’s fingers itch to brush it away and look him in the eyes and crush his lips on -

Suddenly, Derek became aware of Reid’s head falling against his shoulder, and a shock shot through his core - even managing to pierce his muddled, hazy thoughts. He gently shoved him away to look at him, frowning. He felt a little like he was moving through water instead of air. His own bottle had been drained by that point, too. “Hey,” he murmured to him, “You good?”

Reid’s brows were furrowed with what looked to Derek like vertigo, and he groaned softly. “No,” he said.

“No?”

“I don’ feel all that great.”

“I bet you don’t, kid. A whole bottle in…” _ How long had it been, exactly? _ “I dunno. Anyway,” he said, “Yeah, figure it should be hitting you pretty hard right about now.”

Reid mumbled something unintelligible in response, his head lolling. Derek roused him again, earning another wince. “What was that?” he asked.

“Metabolize,” he repeated sluggishly.

“Yeah?”

“Think I… ingested too much toxins.”

Derek cracked a smile. “Yeah, I… think you might have.”

“Din’ even taste any good,” he muttered. “You guys lied. I’m gonna go now.”

“You’re gonna go? Go where?”

“Go m’tabolize, told you that already.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” He tried to stand up from his seat but ended up losing his balance almost immediately. Derek was on his feet before he even registered what was happening to keep him from toppling into the fire, which was little more than smoldering, flickering logs and red-hot coals glowing underneath at that point.

Derek had one arm around his back and another holding onto his wrist. Reid blinked at the fire and a laugh bubbled from his lips at how close he’d almost come to falling. 

“You sure you can get back on your own?” Derek asked, giving him a knowing look.

“Maybe,” Reid admitted.

Penelope was lying on her back on the sand talking up at JJ and Emily, the former of whom was leaning her head on the commodore’s shoulder. The captain suddenly perked up and raised her eyebrows at Reid. “Chocolate Thunder, you better keep an eye on him,” she warned. “Kid doesn’t look like he can even stand up straight.”

“Trust me, I was going to,” he assured her. To Reid, he said, “Let’s get you back to the rooms, sound good?”

He nodded sluggishly, still with a little smile playing on his lips. “Yeah,” he murmured, giving Derek’s shoulder a resolute pat. “Let’s.”

“Okay.” And, with Derek half-supporting him, they finally left the circle of friends and firelight and stepped out across the cold sand and into the night to make for the treeline and the path back to the huts. The chill in the air came as a bit of a shock to Derek - it had been blazing hot just earlier that day.

_ No, that’s just because you were watching Reid shoot a gun and then you had your feet on either side of one of his when you adjusted his hands… _

Derek couldn’t remember exactly when during the course of the night his thoughts had become so bold, but he was just a little too drunk at the moment to particularly care. 

Against him as they walked, Reid shivered. “It’s cold,” he murmured.

“It is, kinda,” Derek shrugged. “You know why it’s so cold, Pretty Boy?”

He scoffed. “_ Do I know why it’s cold _,” he muttered. “Like you don’t?”

“I don’t. You tell me.”

Reid launched into a long and slurred-together explanation of the atmosphere and the sun and the water, which Derek paid attention to as much as he could. Mostly, the thing that his hazy thoughts focused most on was the passion in his voice, the motions of his hands, the way his mouth formed the words around smiles and breaths. The trees and their night sounds closed around them as he walked along the path, listening to the man he loved ramble, and he couldn’t have felt happier.

_ I wish it could just be the two of us in the rainforest here forever. _

Reid stumbled on a root in the path, interrupting his train of thought - but Derek’s arm was already around him so he didn’t go careening. That didn’t stop Derek from grabbing his hand as a reflex.

“Whoa there,” he breathed.

Reid laughed again, then stopped as he seemed to notice his hand in Derek’s right then. The soft skin against calluses. He met his eyes and frowned. “Pathogens,” he muttered.

Derek barely registered the words. He was too caught up in the beauty of Reid’s face, so close to his, all dark brown eyes and flecks of moonlight in his hair and cheekbones. “What?” he asked belatedly.

Suddenly, Reid slipped his hand out of Derek’s and met his gaze again. “The number of contaminants you exchange when you hold someone’s hand is… a lot.” He breathed a laugh. “It’s honestly safer to kiss.”

Derek blinked. _ His face right there, his lips… _ Oh, he wanted to, now. Badly. So badly. The desire suddenly slammed into him, rushed through him, emboldened by the rum - but he reined it in with every last dreg of restraint he still had in his body. _ Why was it that I’m doing that, again? _ “Oh,” he murmured. “That’s… neat, Reid.”

He tried to take a step to resume their course, but fingers dug into the folds of his shirt a little tighter, forcing him to stay where he was. Very close. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body through his clothes as the two of them looked at each other.

Close enough to see the light and shadow move in the column of his neck as he swallowed. “Aren’t you gonna?” Reid murmured, that crease between his eyebrows flickering.

“What?” 

A slow gaze that lingered on his lips before lifting back up to his eyes. “Kiss me.”

Close enough that he had to be able to feel his pounding heartbeat.

_ Kiss me. _

He was just answering his question, just finishing what he was saying, but the look in his eyes and the closeness of his lips and the softness in his voice made it more like a request, an appeal, a plea.

_ Kiss me. _

_ Please. _

Derek almost did it, right then. He really almost did. His head tilted a fraction through the heat sweeping through his body and up his face. He felt his hand tighten, flatten, across Reid’s shoulder as his mouth opened the tiniest bit, as he felt Reid breathe in and clutch his shirt tighter in anticipation of his mouth on his.

But he hesitated. 

He wasn’t sure this was happening. The rum, the adrenaline overwhelming his senses, looking at Reid in his arms, feeling him, the heat in his face and his heart and his -

And then Reid’s lashes lowered and he tipped his chin forward to meet him where he had hesitated, and his lips closed over his own.

Derek couldn’t help but let his own eyes fall closed as well and his every sense narrowed to his mouth, as it moved against Reid’s. His other hand reached for his waist to hold him closer, sliding his palm over his hip and then flat across his back. He felt him clutch his shirt in his fist as he pulled them flush against each other. No more space between them. No more.

Their hearts beat desperately in their chests.

Kissing.

_ Reid. _

His mouth opened against him, and Reid inhaled sharply, stepping back on reflex and promptly losing his footing again. Derek broke their kiss in the moment as one arm held him tighter and the other found a tree to stop them both from collapsing to the ground. 

Reid, unfazed, just dragged him closer until his back was to the trunk of the tree and Derek’s hand was beside his head and he crushed his lips against him even harder. His brows furrowed and he made a soft noise as Derek held him tight and kissed him back. Derek’s knee was pressed into the bark, pressed between his legs, his thighs. Hips against his.

And lips moving together, breathing together, letting in small gasps before diving back under. Hands trailed up around his shoulders, the back of his head. He was pushing his fingers through his hair, out of the way of his face like he had wanted to do for so long, scraping his knuckles against the bark but not caring because his hair was so soft, he was so warm pressed against him. Mouths and tongue and teeth and furrowed brows and breath.

Reid’s hands slid back down over his shoulders and pressed gently against his chest to pull them apart. Derek’s breathing was coming in short, choppy bursts, his heart beating through his shirt against the hands resting there. 

“You okay?” he breathed, more air than words. He couldn’t catch his breath. Organize his thoughts. 

Reid nodded, his own chest rising and falling. He swallowed again. His eyes were still closed, chin lowered. “Feel like I’m gonna pass out,” he whispered back.

Derek breathed a low laugh and tilted his head to kiss him again, long and slow. Reid sighed and kissed him back - but then dragged his head away after a moment. “Like I’m actually gonna pass out,” he murmured woozily. “Head’s… spinning.”

_ Ah _. Derek smiled and pushed back his hair again, savoring the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers. The warm, lazy press of their bodies back against the tree. The sigh as Reid’s eyes fluttered closed. “Probably all those toxins, huh?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

He pushed off the trunk gently, finally drawing them apart, taking his leg out from between his. Cool night air washed over where they had been touching. “Guess we should get you home,” he said.

“Wait.” 

Reid placed his hands on either side of his face and pulled him back in for one more kiss, lifting himself back off the tree. Derek grinned against his mouth and slid his hands around his waist once more.

He wasn’t sure how they managed to reach the huts along the river. He didn’t remember if they stopped against any more trees to kiss and touch each other, hold each other closer - or how they possibly managed to ignore those desires if they didn’t. 

What he _ did _know was that Reid succumbed more and more completely to the delayed effects of all that alcohol he’d drunk, the further they went into the woods - stumbling more, relying more and more on Derek for support, leaning heavily on him. 

They did reach the huts in due time. Probably would have made it in half the time, had they not stopped so often or been burdened by intoxication. Steps creaked under their combined weight. Reid practically collapsed onto his cot when they rounded the partition, and Derek tried to let him down as gently as he could so he didn’t hit his head. He found a blanket and draped it over his prone form as he winced in his languid state.

Derek’s hand lingered on his shoulder as he knelt beside him. Even trashed and near-unconscious, Reid was definitely still beautiful as ever. Nothing could ever make him less so. He bent down and pressed his lips gently to his temple in a long, lingering kiss.

Reid just frowned without opening his eyes and fumbled for the hand that was still resting on his shoulder. “Don’ go,” he murmured, his words slurring together and almost incoherent.

But Derek did hear them.

_ Don’t go. _

_ He’s lost protectors before _.

Elle’s words managed to slip into his hazy mind, and seeing him lying there, brow furrowed… Derek could see that, now. A glimpse of his history of loss that was written into his features as he lay there delirious… and alone.

_ I’d go to him before he counts you among their ranks. _

“I’m not,” he whispered. He rubbed his thumb soothingly over his shoulder. “I’m not leaving you ever again.”

_ I love you _.

Maybe it was just because Reid finally slipped fully into his sleep in that moment, but Derek was certain that the crease between his brows eased just a little at those words, and the corner of his mouth relaxed into the barest hint of a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long chapter today, but it sure was worth it ;) (and so much fun to write!)


	14. Kairos

Spencer had never slept so soundly in his entire life.

Which only made it worse when he finally rose to the surface of his consciousness again, and the first thing he became aware of was the _ splitting _ pain in his head.

He was very warm, of course, he was aware of that sensation too, but it was the raging headache that he cared about more at that moment. He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed through his teeth as the ache pounded repeatedly into his brain.

_ I’m… hungover. _

There was sunlight pouring in through the window above his head, a sheet of absolutely blinding white that Spencer couldn’t bear to even look at. His eyes hurt. Everything above his neck did, really. The rest of his body felt like lead.

_ This… really sucks. _

_ I can’t believe I drank enough of that garbage to feel like this in the morning, the rum was absolutely disgusting… _

He recalled the burn of the drink down his throat. His memory from last night was muddled and black and nebulous, pierced by flickers of the bonfire, and then… _ how did I get back here, again? _

The effort to recall so early in the morning, so soon after he’d just woken up, was only making his splitting headache worse. Spencer brought his hand up to hold against his temple, gritting his teeth.

Something shifted on him as he did so.

Prying his eyelids apart - _ God, that sunlight is hellish - _he frowned at whatever it was draped across his middle.

A dark, well-muscled arm.

A cold shock lanced through Spencer’s entire body as he suddenly froze. As he felt his breath freeze in his lungs and his fingertips halt on his temple. As he stared and stared and his heart resumed its beating - but at an increasingly erratic and elevated pace.

_ An arm… _

Slowly, stiffly - excruciatingly so - Spencer’s stare followed the lines of the forearm, the curve of the bicep, the shoulder. His pulse pounded in his ears and through his brain until he got his first real good look at why, _ exactly _ , he had been so _ very _warm up until now. 

He knew what he’d find, of course, deep in his mind. He knew that arm. He’d gazed at it enough times, studied it, memorized it, to know it.

But that still didn’t soothe the second scathing cold shock that seized his body when he actually saw it for real.

Derek Morgan. 

Fast asleep with his head on the pillow behind him. Sunlight gilded his cheekbones. His breath brushed over the fine hairs on the back of Spencer’s neck and sent shivers straight down his spine.

Morgan.

_ In his bed. _

And not just in his bed, either, but Morgan _ sleeping next to him with his chest against his back and one arm draped over his waist. _

The frozen shock was rapidly being overtaken by mortification, _ flaming _mortification that thawed his initial shock and replaced it with a driving heat that intensified with every pound of his heart.

_ Oh my god… _

Spencer could do nothing but stare at the smooth, handsome features sleeping completely contently, completely unaware right beside him. At the dark brows, the short black lashes, the slope of his nose, his lips -

_ Gaze flicking to his lips, then back to his eyes before the lips vanished from his field of vision because they were - _

_ Oh, no. _

Spencer wasn’t sure he was breathing. 

His mouth was definitely open, but he wasn’t sure his lungs were functioning. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to feel a shock any greater than the ones he’d just felt this morning.

Oh, he was wrong.

Memories began flickering to the surface from the inky, black haze of last night.

_ Gaze flicking to his lips, then back to his eyes… _

_ Palms flat against linen and the contours of muscle underneath them… _

_ Bonfire. A bottle… _

_ Dark eyes… _

_ The moment when his mouth had opened while they… _

_ While they… _

Spencer covered his mouth. He was _ definitely _ not breathing. There was no way he was breathing, not now. 

_ He… _

_ Kissed me. _

_ Morgan kissed me, and I… I kissed him back. _

_ Oh my god… _

Morgan still slept perfectly soundly, but Spencer was rooted to the spot. The hand he held against his mouth was trembling. His heartbeat, his breathing, erratic. Out of control. Everything was spiraling out of control. His cursed, perfect memory was picking out more and more details of what they did, _ what they did _…

He wrenched his hand away and instead balled it on the sheet beneath him, trying desperately to regain control of himself. His entire body felt hot. _ You don’t know where these details are coming from _ , he insisted, shutting his eyes against that infernal, blinding sunlight. _ You don’t know this actually happened. This could just be a dream. _

Spencer took a slow, shuddering breath. _ This could really just be a dream. You’ve dreamed about… _ this _ before. You’ve had dreams like this involving Morgan before. You remembered them all and felt like this in the morning every time, mortified like this. _

_ You dreamed it. You didn’t really get drunk enough to kiss him. You’re dreaming. _

_ You’re dreaming… _

Except every other time he’d woken up in a cold sweat after dreams like that, he’d _ never _ actually woken up with the subject of his dream lying beside him with one arm over his waist.

He swallowed and looked back at Morgan again. Staring at him, he knew deep down it would be impossible to convince himself that what he was remembering was only a dream. It was a fool’s errand. 

He knew what dreams felt like, and he was _ really _ pretty certain that this wasn’t one of them.

He was really pretty certain that it had actually happened.

He’d actually kissed Morgan.

And Morgan had _ definitely _ kissed him back. 

_ Rough tree bark scraping against his back, hands in his hair, flush to him, flush to the tree with one of his legs between his, driving him further back against the tree, he was… _

Another thought struck him and sent a fresh wave of uncomfortable heat shooting through him.

_ What happened _ after _ I kissed him? Why is he sleeping with me in the first place? _

_ If he’s in my bed, did we… _

In a panic, Spencer shoved the sheet off him to look at himself, his heart in his throat with the fear that he’d look down and see -

Clothed.

He was fully clothed. Shirt, pants, boots, he checked himself. All there. He was still wearing his boots, he’d slept with them on. He risked a glance at Morgan, beside him, and saw that the weaponsmith was also fully clothed.

And, try as he might, he couldn’t seem to dredge up any memories of taking their clothes off once they got back. Or of anything else that could have followed.

If this had been a dream, he would usually be recalling _ much _more than just a kiss right now.

Spencer closed his eyes and breathed out slowly again. _ So that… didn’t happen. _

But that didn’t change the fact that this confirmation only solidified his confidence that everything else _ definitely _ did. That he really had gotten so drunk he’d kissed Morgan and let himself be kissed against that tree.

_ You promised yourself you wouldn’t go there. _

That familiar mantra suddenly felt like a taunt, sitting there on the cot with Morgan beside him and the memory of his lips flickering across his own.

_ You promised yourself you wouldn’t go there, you wouldn’t go there, Spencer, you promised yourself you promised yourself you promised yourself you promised… _

_ Because now that you stepped over that line WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO DO NEXT? _

Morgan shifted in his sleep and sighed, spurring Spencer to action like a deer spooked by a carriage.

He shoved himself off the cot, scrambling out from under his arm, shooting to his feet and pressing his back to the wall, breathing hard and fast. Heat still burned his face. He looked down at Morgan’s figure, half-covered by the sheet, still sleeping like the dead. Peacefully.

He was so handsome -

_ YOU PROMISED YOURSELF. _

He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back against the wall.

_ He’s not going to stay asleep forever, and when he wakes up what are you going to do then? _

_ What are you going to do, now that you’ve finally gone and kissed him, huh? _

_ How do you think you can _ possibly _ proceed now? _

_ Run. _

That was the only plan his ravaged, aching brain could come up with amid the panicked racing of his heart. 

_ Run. _

_ Before he wakes. _

_ Now. _

And he did. 

He dashed out of the room, the hut, down the steps and down the first path he came to. He gritted his teeth against the flashes of sunlight and he ran as far away from that hut and the man sleeping inside it as he possibly could with his taunting mantra still ringing in his ears.

* * *

He had no particular direction in mind as he ran, simply _ away _.

Unfortunately, his own mind was the only thing he couldn’t outrun - and the one thing he desperately wished he could.

_ You promised yourself you wouldn’t go there, and look what you went and did. _

_ Why did I keep drinking that disgusting rum? It wasn’t even good! Why did I keep drinking it? Why did I even play that game? Did I seriously think my knowledge of toxicology alone would just miraculously prevent me from getting so drunk? Did I seriously think that? _

Spencer’s steps finally slowed and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. His head was still pounding. _ You promised yourself for a reason. You promised you wouldn’t think about Morgan like that, you wouldn’t make any kind of advances, you wouldn’t even acknowledge the way your heart always skipped a beat whenever you saw him - you promised all that for a reason. _

_ Because nothing would ever come of it. _

_ Nothing was _ supposed _ to come of it. _

And yet, here he stood. He leaned back against a tree and pressed the heels of his palms back into his temples, but even that small motion was enough to bring back memories.

_ Rough tree bark against his back, hands in his hair, lips that crushed down and parted and - _

He shoved himself off the tree. Frustration swelled in his chest so strongly he felt like he needed to hit something in order to release it. Frustration and mortification and excitement - because goddamn but those memories still gave him a thrill to think about, despite it all - and _ confusion _, utter confusion. 

He took off running again.

_ You promised yourself not to think about how much you love Morgan because you knew it would only hurt you if you did. It’s not like you could see him, not living in the fishbowl of the nobility, not in a hundred years. It’s not like you could ever be with him. It’s not like he could have loved you back. _

_ Just because he holds your heart doesn’t mean you hold his, remember that? _

_ You promised yourself in order to keep yourself safe - yourself and him, safe from heartache and suffering and ridicule and hatred. _

_ But you broke that promise. No, you went beyond breaking, you shattered it completely. _

_ You can’t go back now. _

_ But how do you possibly - _ possibly - _ go forward from here? _

He suddenly stopped as one foot almost slid over the short lip of the bank of a creek. Water burbled gently over the rocks. Spencer just crossed it easily, and in a couple of stones he was on the other side.

Nowhere in particular, just _ away. _

Away from the huts. Away from the dregs of the fire on the beach and the tree where he’d been kissed. Away from Morgan and away from Penelope and Emily and JJ and the rest of the crew - _ oh, God, did any of them see? Did any of them see me and Morgan, sleeping in the same bed with so much… intimacy? Did any of them see? _

_ What do they think happened? _

_ I know what _ I _ would have thought happened, but that’s… that’s not what happened, that’s _ not _ , that’s not what we did, but I wasn’t awake to explain it and neither was Morgan - would Morgan have denied it? What would Morgan have said about it? What does _ he _ think about last night? _

_ Did he like it? _

_ Does he even remember? _

_ I should go explain myself to them - NO, no I can’t go explain, because then it’ll just look like I’m trying to cover it up, and plus if they already have their own ideas about it there’s no WAY I can show my face around them… _

_ What does Morgan think about it… _

_ You promised yourself… _

Spencer blinked suddenly. The trees around him had fallen away amid his spiraling anxieties, and he was standing in a relatively open space. The creek burbled somewhere off to the side, and further away it joined with another creek to form a ‘Y’ shape. There was a big tree in the middle of the area and a…

A treehouse halfway up its trunk?

He blinked again and looked about him, suddenly getting his bearings with a disorienting jolt. Yes, against the treeline was the healing hut. A little further away, the small garden. He was coming from a different angle, to be sure, but he knew where he was.

_ Elle. _

_ Maybe… she could help me? _

His feet were moving without him particularly registering it, scaling the steps to her front door. 

_ Maybe she can help me sort out my feelings or give me something to forget last night or make Morgan forget last night or make everyone forget last night or maybe she has something to give me that will make me fall in love with girls, only girls, exclusively girls and not have to deal with this anymore… _

The door opened before he even had a chance to knock, and there was the witch, calmly observing him like she was expecting his arrival. 

“Spencer,” she said simply. 

No judgement in her eyes, no judgement even though he probably looked exactly as disheveled as he felt after running blindly through the jungle with a raging hangover and a guilty conscience over an act about which he really wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel anymore.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t find the right words to convey everything he needed to say, needed to get off his chest.

_ Help me, help me, tell me what I’m supposed to feel… _

At length, after a long moment where Elle waited patiently for him to form a coherent thought, Spencer finally whispered, “Do… do you have a… like, a… hair comb?”

The witch simply smiled in a way that made him understand that he didn’t need to tell her anything else. She knew. She already knew, and she just opened the door wider to let him in. “Of course,” she nodded.

Spencer held her gaze, then closed his eyes.

The corners of her mouth turned up into a gentle smile as she let him enter, and said simply, “Make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while, aren’t you.”

He just nodded mutely, distantly, and collapsed heavily at her table while she closed the door behind him. Elle went about tending a small brass kettle of a steaming liquid that was perfuming the small, cluttered room with its herbal scent. Even just the aroma seemed to take the worst of his headache’s edge off.

He frowned at the wood grain. “Don’t… take this the wrong way,” he said at length while she worked steadily at the kettle. “But I don’t… really know how I ended up here, actually,” he admitted.

“Few people ever do,” came her voice in response. “Tea?”

He shook his head, wincing again at his headache. “No, thank you, I don’t need any.”

“Yes you do.” A cup was placed before him anyway, and Elle slid soundlessly into the seat beside him, her gaze level and patient. 

He glanced down at the drink in its little cup - it didn’t look particularly special, just like a normal cup of tea, but he couldn’t be sure with the witch. “What… is it going to do?” he asked.

“Rehydrate you.”

“Yeah, but… does it… do anything else?”

She shrugged. “The herbs I brewed it with this morning will ease your headache some,” she said. “If you’re asking whether or not I bewitched it, the answer to that one is no.” She inclined her head in its direction. “Drink it, you’ll feel better. I promise.”

Wordlessly, hesitantly, he wrapped his hands around it and brought it to his lips. The tea was strong, herbal, but not altogether unpleasant. And the warmth of the liquid was rather soothing. 

Elle didn’t pressure him to speak. She merely sat, crossed one ankle over the other, drank her own tea in silence while Spencer gazed down into his drink and tried to compartmentalize his thoughts as they began to creep back into his consciousness.

_ You promised… _

_ Nothing would come of it… _

_ Keep you safe… _

_ Just because he holds your heart… _

He couldn’t sit there much longer. Elle seemed content to sit and drink in silence, but the longer the silence stretched the more Spencer’s chest tightened with words yet to be spoken. He had to say something. Had to… explain himself in some way, for appearing at her doorstep unannounced, even though it really almost seemed like she’d been expecting him.

Still. He needed to say something.

Tell _ someone _ exactly what was going on… for once.

Spencer swallowed. And, in a quiet, hesitant voice, he murmured, “I… think I really screwed up this time.”

Elle merely lifted an eyebrow but made no motions to interrupt him.

He leaned his forehead in his hand, braced on the table. “I mean,” he muttered, “I’ve screwed up before - social interactions, first impressions at parties, you know, stuff everyone does - but this… I really… don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“Hm,” the witch nodded. “And what makes this time so different?”

_ Everything. _

“I made a promise,” he admitted, swallowing. “To myself. A long time ago. I promised myself… that I wouldn’t think about, entertain romantic thoughts about… someone. Someone I knew I couldn’t have. It… it just seemed like the most logical thing to do, I mean, nothing… nothing was supposed to come of it, so why would I even bother agonizing over what I couldn’t have in the first place?”

“Protecting yourself from heartache.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And I worked really, really hard to maintain that promise. Especially…” 

_ Especially recently. After being saved and healed by him, after spending almost two weeks with him on a ship and on this island with him. After learning how to shoot a gun, with his hands covering mine and his body so goddamn close to mine… _

_ I really almost broke that promise right then, I really did. I came so frighteningly close. _

“Especially… recently,” he eventually decided. “I worked really hard to ignore everything so that maybe, in time, I’d… get over it and find happiness somewhere else. Somewhere… I’d be _ allowed _ to find it.”

_ And then, all that hard work I put in turned out to be for absolutely nothing in the end, because I never moved on at all, and I just ended up falling further and further in… _

_ In love… _

_ I fell further and further in love with Morgan anyway. _

Frustration tightened his grip on his tea. “It doesn’t make any logical sense,” he whispered. “It’s in human nature to _ avoid _ pain in any form it takes, I don’t understand why I couldn’t stop wanting…” he swallowed. “Why I kept going back, why my thoughts kept going there…” He snorted, cracking a mirthless smile. “And now, I _ broke _ that promise I worked so hard to keep, and now…”

“Now,” Elle said, “After kissing him, you fear you’ve crossed an irrevocable line. That you can never go back to interacting with Derek Morgan the way you’ve grown accustomed to, that perhaps your relationship has changed for the worse.”

Spencer stared at her, his mouth falling open, for several painful heartbeats. The witch’s voice held no accusation, just objective honesty. That didn’t stop his breath from seizing in his lungs at the way she said that so calmly, of course. “You…” he stuttered. “You… know? _ That? _ H… How?”

“I know what goes on on my own island,” was her only response. A tilt of the corner of her mouth was the only hint of amusement she betrayed.

He was definitely blushing now. “In… in how much… detail?”

“Enough.”

Spencer winced, and Elle set down her tea. “It wasn’t as though I had front row seats to a theater play, I don’t mean _ that _ much detail. But when emotions run particularly strong, I can generally sense their nature if they’re in range of this island. I can infer the reasons myself.” She winked.

“So _ you _ tell me what I’m feeling, then,” he exclaimed. “If you can see my emotions, then tell me what this is I’m feeling right now, because _ I _sure as hell don’t know and it’s driving me insane.”

“Frustration,” Elle said soothingly. She leaned her elbows on the table and looked him in the eye as she spoke. “Frustration that you couldn’t keep your promise, that in the end you acted on your romantic attractions despite your best interests. Guilt, because you feel like you shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as you did. And you did. Very much. Mortification, for that same reason.” She gave him a knowing look after those two. “And fear,” she continued, “That your inability to think and act logically has destroyed something you cherished deeply. That now, after you acted on your personal wishes, you will return to the crew and find that your relationship with Derek Morgan has been forever tainted. Does that sound right?”

Spencer gazed mournfully at his drink.

“Because there is one more that I have not mentioned, and I think it’s the one that’s holding the most sway over you right now.”

“Which is?” he asked.

Elle just looked at him gently and said, “Doubt.”

He furrowed his brows. Frowned.

“This doubt does not stem from your kiss last night,” she explained. “This doubt goes deeper than that. Much deeper. You doubt the validity of your affections for Derek Morgan as a whole. You doubt your right to even _ have _ them in the first place.”

Spencer just stared.

“No one has ever told you that it’s okay to fall in love with both women and men - or even that it’s okay to fall in love with another man at all. No one has ever told you that it’s even something that could even be considered. It’s just not ‘done’, not in the society you hail from. You’ve never heard of a romantic involvement between two men ending well. And that’s all you want, isn’t it? For everything to end well.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

Elle leaned back in her chair, always keeping her eyes on him. She tilted her head to the side. “I am not a stranger to the pressures that your society puts on you from the moment you’re born,” she admitted. “Like you, I was raised with expectations that I found myself drifting from the older I got. I was simply being called down a different path than the one I was intended.”

“Your witchcraft, you mean,” Spencer asked her.

“Yes,” Elle nodded solemnly. “I didn’t understand my channelling abilities any more than you understand what’s going on in your heart right now. I struggled for years to keep them hidden for fear of… rejection. Misunderstanding. Repulsion from others.” She lifted a brow. “Sound familiar?”

Spencer pressed his lips together. _ It does. _

_ But our situations aren’t nearly as similar as you claim they are. You don’t understand. _

“Yeah. Well,” he muttered. “At least you had a place to go where people could actually understand you.”

“I didn’t,” she said. Her voice grew a little harder, her stare sharpening for the first time since he arrived. “I _ made _ this island the haven it is for witches like me. I built this place from the ground up. It was excruciatingly hard.” She shook her head. “Finding others to join me without arousing suspicion or tipping off the wrong people, lest they turn me in to the authorities for my powers? Yes, Spencer, _ that _you do not understand, I will give you that.”

“But you’re not _ alone _,” he insisted. “You have others, now. Other people like you in a community where you can feel safe. I… I don’t have that.” 

Elle raised an eyebrow. “Are you so sure?” When he didn’t come up with an answer soon enough, she went on, running a nail along the lip of her cup. “Captain Penelope Garcia, openly and proudly flirting with people of every gender. Your very close friend, Jennifer, had a past relationship with the aforementioned female captain. And that’s only to name a _ few _ from the _ Redwing. _ There are even more who haven’t even fully acknowledged it yet themselves.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Believe me, Spencer. You are far from alone.”

“Then how come I still feel like I am?” he insisted. “I _ knew _ all that stuff about Penelope and JJ, I already _ knew _ that, but that doesn’t mean _ anything _ for me. I’m not one of them, so why does it matter if pirate women can be with other women when I was sitting in the library in my uncle’s manor thinking about a man the way I’m supposed to think about women for _ years _and knowing that I could never…”

His words trailed off again and he curved his shoulders in, letting his focus slide back down to rest on his cup.

Elle did not seem fazed by his outburst. If anything, she looked almost more intrigued. “You’re not one of them?” she asked simply. “Why not?”

He frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a member of the _ Redwing’s _ crew, aren’t you? Didn’t you make a commitment to sail alongside them in order to take down Cat Adams, the pirate who kidnapped you and threatened your friends, instead of letting them drop you off safe and sound back home?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Then it sounds like you _ are _ one of them, to me.”

“But I’m _ not _,” he exclaimed. “I’m not a pirate, Elle, I’m just a nobleman from a disaster of a rich family. I’m not even related to my uncle by blood, really, it’s all marriage ties that put me in his care when I came to Port Quantico. Bankers from the mainland are after my family’s estate and our money and it’s all I can do to fend them off with a stick. I don’t know how to be a pirate like everyone else. I barely know how to be a member of the nobility.”

“Do you have a strong conviction to right a terrible wrong?” she asked. “Do you value freedom? Do you feel an obligation, a sense of loyalty to those on the crew? A companionship?”

“Of course I do,” he insisted. “JJ and Emily are my best friends, I’d trust Penelope with my life at this point, and Morgan, I… I just… really like having Morgan around.”

“Because _ that _ is how to be a pirate,” Elle smiled. “Loyalty to your crew. And I know that you’re the kind of person that would die for your friends, aren’t you.” She shrugged. “It looks to me that you’ve built yourself your own safe haven among them, the same way I built mine.”

“That still doesn’t make me a pirate,” he frowned. “I’m just going to go back to Port Quantico after Cat’s locked up, and I’m gonna be right back where I started - with the bankers, with the politics, with _ everything… _ except for Morgan, because I still don’t know what you expect me to do about _ that _.”

“Well, what do you want to do about it?”

“I don’t know! Avoid it and hope it’ll go away, I guess, but I obviously can’t do that when we’re on the same little ship.” He sighed heavily and tipped his head back. “Maybe I’ll just stay here and live in the woods and eat berries with the other witches while they go on without me.”

“You just said you like having Morgan around. Is that life, a life here on Greenaway, really what you want?” She tipped her head. “Is that your idea of happiness?”

He pressed his lips together. “No,” he admitted.

Elle smiled somberly. “I think you should go back to them,” she said. “Go back and do your part in taking Cat off the seas. Surround yourself with the people you care about. _ That _ is what will make you happy.”

Spencer didn’t say anything for a long time. He worked his jaw absently, studied his tea, drank a little more to ease his lingering pain. 

_ She’s right. I know she’s right. That _ would _ make me happy. I would love nothing more than to sail with this crew. To learn from Penelope, catch up with JJ, tease and get teased by Emily. _

_ Sail alongside Morgan. _

He frowned. _ But… is that life really available to me now? Is it still an option? I mean, I… I _ kissed _ Morgan. Kissed him. That’s not something we can just… ignore. Would he even want me by his side anymore, now? Does he even want to see me? Is he mortified by his own actions last night? Would the sight of me make him too uncomfortable to be around me in the way we have been since Keg Town? _

“There’s a question on your mind,” Elle said. “Speak it.”

Spencer sighed. “Is… is there any way for you to… figure out… how Morgan feels?” he asked at length.

Elle raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Concerned for _ his _feelings, now, are you?”

“I… I guess,” he admitted, “But I just… I don’t know, can you… reach out and just sense his emotions or something? Because I really just want to know how he feels. Where his head is at with this whole thing.”

“You could also just ask him.”

“No, no, _ before _ I see him. So I know if he even _ wants _ to see me at all, because if he doesn’t, I don’t want to get in his way and make him uncomfortable. Please, Elle,” he begged, “I just want to know where he’s at right now. What’s… you know. Going through his head regarding… me.”

“Worried your affections aren’t reciprocated? I would have thought your encounter last night was enough of an answer on that.” At his violent blush, the witch laughed lightly and quit her teasing. “You want to know what his take on the situation is. That’s a valid concern. While I cannot read minds, per se… I _ can _ feel his aura from here, which can give me a little insight.”

Spencer pressed his lips together, waiting with bated breath for the witch to speak. Elle’s gaze relaxed and drifted down to her cup of tea as she reached out with her mind, taking stock of the auras around her. It was somewhat eerie watching her, knowing her attention was no doubt being cast wide across the island like a net. 

She nodded slowly, solemnly, to herself. “He is awake,” she said, her eyes flicking to his. “That is for sure. Only emotions this strong could be from a conscious person.”

“What emotions?” Spencer asked quietly. He braced himself for the worst. _ Disgust. Horror. Regret. Mortification… _

“Fear.”

He blinked. Stared at her. “Fear?” he whispered.

Elle nodded again. “Fear,” she repeated. “Fear, like yours. Fear that he went too far, that he’s scared you off, that you’re gone and will never return because of something he did.” She leveled him a knowing look. “Fear that he really screwed up, this time.”

His own words rang in his ears. All he could do was stare at Elle, speechless.

_ He’s… afraid he scared _ me _ off? _

_ He thinks this is _ his _ fault? How could he possibly think this is his fault? What, does he think he’s the only one out of the two of us who had affections for… _

_ For the other. _

Spencer’s heart gave a small flip.

_ Morgan… Morgan has… _

“His emotions are almost identical to yours,” Elle commented gently.

“What’s different?” Spencer asked. His heartbeat picked up its pace. “What’s different about what he feels?”

“Well, his fear is laced with genuine worry for your well-being,” the witch said. “While you know precisely where you left him, Derek Morgan has absolutely no idea where you’ve run off to and he’s panicking. Other than that… I can tell you for certain that there is not one single thing that is different between what’s going on in both your heart and his.”

_ Not one single thing different. _

_ Worried for my well-being… afraid I’ll never come back… hands overlapping mine on the revolver… sitting by my bedside in the healing hut… patching up my wound on the ship… being carried in his arms… _

_ It can’t… can’t be possible… _

_ Can it? _

“Can it?” he found himself breathing.

Elle just nodded once, a dip of her chin and a brush of a smile. “It can, and it is,” she told him.

_ It is. _

The witch angled her head in the direction of her door. “Someone ought to put the poor weaponsmith out of his misery,” she said casually. “He hasn’t gone far from where you left him. He doesn’t know the first direction to start looking for you - but believe me when I say, if he _ did _ have the slightest heading on your location, there is no barrier in the world that he would not tear down to reach you.”

Spencer’s heart flared in his chest at the resounding truth in that statement, and he rose from the table. “I know,” he murmured. _ I know, and that’s why I love him. _

_ I love him. _

And for once… his old mantra didn’t make an appearance. There was no indignant chiding over a promise he’d made himself before he had been ready to accept this truth. His mind was blissfully quiet. Peaceful, almost.

He couldn’t have been more elated.

_ I love him. _

“Are you going to him?” Elle asked.

Spencer had risen from his seat. He nodded - slowly at first, but then more determinedly. “Yes,” he said. “Should… should I not?”

“No, I absolutely think you should, but in just a moment.” She, too, rose and plucked a small object from a nearby basket, tossing it to him with a grin. “You didn’t even take advantage of what you said you came here for.”

He looked down at the object she’d thrown him, and a laugh broke from his chest. _ A hair comb _. He pulled the tie out of his hair and began working the comb through the tangles.

Elle watched him, pleased as a content cat. “You have some impressive waves going there,” she smirked.

Spencer snorted as he fought with the comb. “It’s not usually this disheveled looking, I swear,” he insisted. “The sea salt makes the ends curl up like this. I just haven’t been able to take half-decent care of it, being so far from Port Quantico.”

“Hmm. Sea air will do that. I bet it gets in your way on the deck, too? Blowing around?”

“All the time.”

She shrugged. “Might be in your best interest to cut it, if you’re going to be spending any more time on the seas.”

“What? No way!” he exclaimed, smoothing a hand over the brushed parts. “I can’t go back to Port Quantico with short hair, the nobility would ridicule me. No.” He raised his eyebrows at her as he pulled it back and tied it with the strip of linen. “As long as I’m one of them, the hair stays as it is.”

“Fine, fine,” the witch said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Begone with you. Reconcile with Derek Morgan. Ease his mind a bit.”

Spencer smiled. “I will,” he said. “And, Elle… thanks.”

“For what?”

“For helping me.”

She merely scoffed. “Helping. I brewed you tea to cure your hangover and listened to you complain. _ I _did nothing.”

“Thank you for listening, then,” he said. “I… I really think I needed that.”

_ I just needed to tell someone. _

_ And I needed someone to tell me that everything was okay. _

Elle smiled in a way that told him that she understood. She understood what had really transpired, and the true importance of her role in it. She was that someone. “Go,” she said. “He’s waiting.”

Spencer gave the witch one last grateful smile before he pushed open the door of her home and set out once more, his heart soaring in his chest with anticipation and hope.

* * *

“Listen, if you would just calm down tell us what’s going on -”

“Nothing’s going on! I just don’t know where the hell he is and no one’s giving me a straight up answer!”

“Because you’re not making any sense!”

Morgan was pacing in front of the hut, wearing down the grass in a flattened trench, running his hands up and over the back of his head and neck. Penelope, JJ, and Emily sat on the steps with varying degrees of mild concern. Emily looked entirely apathetic. JJ was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, but that was the extent of her tension. 

None of them looked nearly as panicked as Morgan.

Spencer felt a little bad for him, watching from where he’d halted his run behind the treeline. _ Was he like that the entire time I was captured by Cat? When I was gone and he didn’t know where to find me? _

_ “There is no barrier in the world that he would not tear down to reach you _.”

He smiled softly. _ Yeah. He was definitely like that then, too. _

He took a deep breath, his heart fluttering from his run and his nerves, and then finally came out from behind the tree.

Penelope noticed him first, as Morgan’s back was to him at the moment. She raised her eyebrows. “Found him,” she said casually. The other women followed her gaze, and Spencer offered them a quick smile.

But his real attention was on Morgan.

Who had snapped around to see, and was now frozen where he stood, his fists clenched by his sides and his face raw with shock.

The first they looked upon each other since last night.

At length, Morgan’s hands relaxed, but tension was still tight in his shoulders. “Hey,” he said hesitantly.

Spencer pressed his lips together and averted his gaze as his face began to heat, his hands in his pockets. _ I really hadn’t planned on there being anyone else around… _

Morgan must have taken his steeling himself as humiliation, because his expression just grew more heartbreaking. “Listen,” he said with his voice starting to break, “Kid, I… last night… I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t…”

_ God, I love you, Morgan. Can’t you see that? _

Heart racing. _ Now _was the time he ought to take Elle’s advice and put the poor man out of his suffering. To give him a definitive answer. 

This was the turning point. Right now. The moment to make a decision.

So he decided.

Closed the distance between them in a few steps and took his hands out of his pockets. Morgan stiffened in anticipation, but then again in shock as Spencer took his face in his hands.

And kissed his lips.

Someone gasped. Probably Penelope. 

He didn’t care.

He kissed him to ease his worrying. He kissed him to show him that he didn’t need to be afraid, not anymore. To tell him what he should have told him long ago, what he shouldn’t have had to get drunk first in order to say.

He kissed him to show him that what had happened last night hadn’t been a mistake.

Spencer let his mouth linger on his for a moment longer, savoring the feel of his lips, the gentle scratch of his facial hair, before he drew apart again, finally meeting the weaponsmith’s eyes as they opened.

Morgan was struck speechless, his dark brows furrowed in shock, confusion, disbelief. Spencer let his hands fall back to his sides, back to his pockets, refusing to break his gaze. His shoulders rose nervously the longer Morgan took to process what had just happened.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, somewhat belatedly.

Morgan shook his head, but he only looked more bewildered. “Reid,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Have… have you been drinking again, or… something?”

A single short laugh burst from his chest. He just shook his head as enough of a response.

_ My judgement isn’t clouded by alcohol, this time. I know exactly what I’m doing. _

_ And what I’m doing… is choosing you. _

Now Morgan had to look away. “Listen, uh…” he murmured. “Reid… I… I, uh…”

“I know,” he said softly.

“I… I love you.”

Elation soared through him, but he fought to keep it contained to just his lips. “I know,” he smiled.

“Okay.” Morgan nodded. Still not meeting his eyes. “Well… good. Because… because I mean it, alright?”

Spencer’s smile only broadened. “So do I,” he whispered.

Morgan stared at him. Shock and bewilderment on his face, yes… but _ hope _. Hope flaring in his gaze.

He shrugged with his hands still in his pockets. “I… love you too,” he said.

Morgan’s eyebrows twitched upwards, and he cracked a smile as the reality of the situation finally started to become real to him. Spencer was here. He had kissed him. Kissed him, in broad daylight in front of an audience, without a hint of alcohol clouding his mind. 

This was real.

Against all odds, they had fallen in love with each other.

“Really?” Morgan asked.

Spencer just nodded.

The weaponsmith exhaled a sudden, joyous laugh, earning a grin from him, and suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his head in the crook of his neck. Spencer wrapped his arms around his middle and just held him tight. 

When they finally parted again and held each other at arm’s length, Morgan looked to the women sitting on the steps, still beaming with disbelief. As if he wanted to make sure they were seeing this, too.

And oh, they had. By the looks on their faces, they most certainly had. Spencer felt his blush deepen. _ I _ really _ hadn’t counted on an audience… _

“Well,” Penelope said at length. “Glad _ that’s _all cleared up. About time.” She raised an eyebrow. “Feeling a little better, now, Derek?”

Morgan laughed and rustled Spencer’s hair a little. “I mean…” he shrugged. “He’s back.”

“I’d say,” JJ said with a knowing flick of her eyebrows.

“_ I _ think,” Penelope declared, “That this calls for a _ celebration _.”

“Not more rum!” Spencer exclaimed.

“Penelope, wasn’t it _ you _ complaining about your god-awful hangover less than an hour ago?” JJ chided.

“No, that was _ me _complaining,” Emily piped up. “Penelope was just commiserating.”

“And I say, drinks all around for the disaster lovers!” The captain grinned. “But maybe tonight, when we’re all a little more recovered.”

JJ nodded. “I’ll second that.”

“Third,” Emily raised a hand.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at Spencer. “Now, I know the ladies can drink their fill two nights in a row, but you think you’ll feel up to that, too?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” he winced. “I think I’ll leave the heavy drinking to you guys.”

“Never got used to the taste, did you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Morgan just grinned. “We won’t force you this time, I promise.”

“No one _ forced _ me, I just made the decision to completely disregard the amount of alcohol I was consuming until it was too late.”

“Well, I mean… _ I _think it ended up pretty well…”

Spencer laughed and pressed a kiss to the plane of his cheek. Morgan met his eyes again for a moment, a silent gauge.

But he didn’t need to be a witch to understand that they were feeling the same thing. Still rough around the edges, still glaringly new, shockingly _ different _ , still so much to work out and clarify and confirm. They weren’t anywhere close to a perfect conclusion _ … _but at least, for that moment, it was good enough for them. They were feeling the same thing.

Finally.

By the time Morgan’s lips pressed against his own once more, Spencer was already beaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kairos  
n. (Ancient Greek): the right, critical, or opportune moment for action


	15. Homeward Bound

As their stay on Greenaway neared the two week mark - loath as she was to admit it to the others - Emily began to grow a little restless for action. 

The reason she didn’t want to say that to the rest of the crew was because she was also  _ thoroughly  _ enjoying her time on the island. It was the longest time to Emily’s memory that she had been able to spend completely and utterly relaxed. No criminals to pursue. No potential suitors breathing down her neck. No parties with veiled innuendo about the ultimate fate of the commodore. No pressure to even have to interact with men in  _ any _ capacity any more than she had to. 

But she began to grow restless nevertheless.

The bonfires and group meals and extensive leisure time alone were an absolute blessing, but Emily would still catch her fingers twitching for action once and awhile. Even the sparring sessions with Matt or Luke or Tara or Derek - which she’d increased in frequency during that second week - didn’t do nearly as good of a job dispelling her unrest as she’d hoped. She was antsy. She needed something to  _ do _ , really do.

Like hunt down Cat.

The pirate’s lovely, dangerous features haunted the backs of Emily’s eyelids. She wanted to be rid of them - and her.

But she didn’t say this to JJ or Penelope or even to Spencer. They were still having the time of their lives. Emily had even caught Spencer and Derek kissing once or twice when they thought no one was looking, and she always quietly left before they noticed her. The sight of two men - two of her friends - testing romantic boundaries was always somewhat of a surprise every time she came across it, but not an entirely unpleasant one. 

She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Spencer beam and laugh as often as when he was with Derek ever before in her entire life. And both of them had the kind of smiles that were absolutely infectious.

It gave her a feeling almost akin to…  _ hope  _ when she saw it, but she wasn’t quite sure just what that hope was for yet. 

Still.

Maybe it was just Emily’s mounting stir-craziness, but as they reached two weeks on the island… she was pretty certain everyone was feeling it a little, too. She noticed it most in Spencer and Derek, how they teased and laughed… and never, not once, spoke of  _ anything  _ relating to their departure from the island. Not a word from either of them. As if saying it would break the new and careful bond they’d formed.

They all knew what would happen after their departure.

What they were going back to.

Emily was cleaning her pistol as she walked out onto the beach one day, heading to practice her aim, when she noticed that someone else had beaten her to the narrow stretch of sand. Long blonde curls blew gently in the morning sunlight, in time with the ocean-blue of her asymmetrical skirt as she gazed out to sea. 

At first, Emily thought it might be JJ, but she quickly realised that this pirate’s figure was fuller, plumper, than the first mate’s. She tipped her head to the side and holstered her gun. “Hey,” she said, approaching the woman from the side.

Penelope glanced over, then cracked a fleeting smile. She hadn’t been smiling when Emily had approached. “Hey there,” she said.

“How are you doing?” Emily asked.

The captain sighed and looked down at her sand-flecked boots. “She’s out there,” she murmured quietly, lifting her lashes to the horizon once more.

“Cat?”

“No.” The corner of her mouth quirked to the side as she reconsidered. “I mean, yes, but… I didn’t mean her. Not first, at least.”

Emily’s gaze softened with understanding. “Your ship is first,” she said. 

Penelope sighed again and nodded. “The  _ Black Queen _ is out there,” she said. “In someone else’s hands. I just want her back.”

She didn’t say anything in response, only a pensieve nod. Emily would never understand what Penelope must be feeling - no one had ever taken the  _ Redwing _ from her before - but she could imagine the pain. Losing a ship, especially one that you’d grown fond of after so long, and knowing it’s being used by someone else for dastardly crimes… it must be devastating. 

“We’ll get her back,” Emily assured her.

The captain gave her a sad smile. “Thanks,” she murmured.

She returned the smile.

Penelope scuffed the heel of her boot in the sand. “Think everyone will mutiny if I suggest we set sail again?” she asked.

Emily’s heart suddenly leaped. Outwardly, she just blinked and shook her head. “No,” she said. “At least, the crew members worth keeping won’t.”

“Which is everyone,” Penelope smirked to herself. “I don’t know. I don’t want to ruin your fun, I know you’re all enjoying this time off - God knows the boys are, at least - but…”

“You want real action.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“I feel that, too,” Emily said with a small shrug. 

Penelope elbowed her gently with a knowing smirk. “Itching for action on the high seas? You’ve got a lot more in common with a pirate than you originally thought, don’t you?” she teased.

Emily simply brushed that notion off for the time being. “As much as I love it here… my place is out there. Bringing awful people to justice,” she said. She cracked a smile. “If you throw out the suggestion to leave, I’ll be right behind you. I’ll even fight off the hordes of opposition, if it comes to that.”

Penelope actually laughed at that. “Why, thank you,” she said. “You jest, but I fear I might actually require your martial talents after I drop that suggestion.”

“What makes you think I jest? I know how these people are by now. I was being serious,” she declared with a smile.

The two women laughed for a bit. Penelope finally nodded, more resolute. She looked Emily in the eye. “Come on,” she said, angling her head at the treeline, “Let’s go round up the crew. I think today’s the day we get our bearings from Elle and sail towards battle at last.”

* * *

Only Emily, Penelope, JJ, Derek, and Spencer fit in the witch’s treehouse, so the others remained on the riverbank. Most of their supplies had been loaded onto the ship by that point, and it was only themselves they had left to row back to the  _ Redwing _ . The boats were pulled up onto the pebbles.

Elle was moving swiftly about the room, her long skirt swishing across the dusty floorboards, while the five of them watched from their seated and standing positions around her table. 

“Luckily for you,” the witch said, “I’ve been doing some scrying on my own these past couple weeks, keeping an eye on the  _ Black Queen _ every few days so that this final divination would be more effective for you.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up. “You mean plotting a trajectory? Like in mathematics?”

“Precisely.”

“How accurate does it get?” He began a barrage of questions. “Can you discern speed? Wind direction? Her -”

“Spence.” JJ placed a gentle hand on his arm to keep him in his seat. “Let her speak.”

“Sorry.”

Elle and JJ shared a knowing look over his head. 

The witch gathered a handful of shells and misshapen crystals and took her spot at the head of the table. Her eyes flicked to Derek. “Do you have the map?” she asked.

He lifted the roll of vellum in his hand.

The witch nodded, satisfied. Then, she took her handful of objects, cupped in both hands, and brought them to her mouth. She seemed to murmur something into them, nodding slowly, eyes closed. Everyone leaned in to watch.

Elle took a breath and suddenly spread her hands wide, letting the shells clatter onto the table.

Emily scanned the array in which they had fallen, but came away somewhat disappointed. They didn’t spell anything, and they didn’t look like any coastline she recognized. They just looked like a handful of shells and crystals that had been thrown onto the tabletop.

But Elle seemed to understand whatever had happened. She traced one nail around the edge of a shell, then across the wood grain to a branch of crystal. Her eyes flicked over the array as if she was reading a book. 

At length, she curled a fist beside the spread and sighed tightly. “I was afraid of this,” she muttered.

Dismay lanced through Emily. “Afraid of what?” she asked. “Did it not work?”

“Oh, no, it worked, alright,” she frowned. She extended her hand to Derek. “Map. Spread it out.”

Hastily, Derek unrolled the vellum and laid it flat on the other end of the table from the scrying objects. The map they’d brought encompassed the entire archipelago, and even sported the coastline of the mainland up in one of the corners. On the map’s surface was a labyrinth of inked lines in varying weights, and scrolled lettering demarcating the names of towns and islands.  _ Keg Town _ was there, and not too far away was the largest island with the biggest port by far,  _ Port Quantico. _

_ Home. _

But staring at that wide expanse of islands, so many islands big and small in every shape… for the first time, Emily suddenly felt a disconnect from that largest one.

_ I’ve been to almost every island on there, but now… the world feels a lot bigger than I initially thought it was. _

Elle swept to Derek’s side and studied it. After a moment, she tapped a nail onto the vellum, onto the sea between two islands. “There.” She looked up at the crew. “Cat’s there.”

“What’s wrong, then?” JJ asked.

“Because Cat  _ used _ to be here.” Elle moved her finger to another island, one of the most northern ones labeled, rather uncreatively,  _ Fort North _ .

“Fort North?” Emily exclaimed, noting the expanse of sea between Keg Town and that location. “The hell was she doing all the way up there?”

“What do you think she was doing?” Penelope frowned. “Raiding it, I bet.”

“ _ Raiding _ it? You can’t raid that fort, it’s impossible.”

“Tell that to Cat Adams,” Elle scoffed, “Who spent a full twenty-four hours in wait behind that little border island before striking that fort at night and sailing away before morning. I paid special attention that night, scrying every half-hour or so to track her progress. She most certainly raided it.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Derek asked.

“Because that fort holds the second largest storage of naval artillery weaponry in the archipelago,” Spencer muttered. He met Emily’s gaze, and she saw her own serious dread reflected on every plane of his face. “She’s doing the same thing we did.”

“She’s preparing for a fight,” Emily said with a clench of her jaw.

JJ frowned. “But, wait,” she said, “She doesn’t have a scrying ability. She can’t possibly know where we are.”

“I don’t think she means that kind of fight,” Penelope whispered. She pointed to the spot where Elle said the  _ Black Queen _ was sailing, then traced the path it had taken from Fort North. “Look.”

The entire group was silent as Penelope continued the line. Her finger traced over a few small islands as she did so… but it was where the path ended that sucked the life out of the group.

The largest island on the map.

“Port Quantico?” Spencer whispered. 

“She’s going to try to sack  _ Port Quantico? _ ” Emily breathed.

Elle looked at her. “About to tell us that that’s impossible, too, Commodore?” she asked.

Emily swallowed, dread pounding through her veins. “I… I would,” she said, “But… If Cat successfully raided that fort, if she bolstered her firepower with its armory… She could do a lot of damage.”

“If she sailed into the bay under the cover of darkness, she could light up the entire city.” Spencer’s voice was flat, void of emotion, as he stared at the map. At the island where his uncle lived, completely unawares. “The casualties could be in the hundreds before the navy can even mobilize.  _ Not  _ taking into account what could happen if her men hop onto boats and reach the docks.”

“A surprise night siege  _ is _ Cat’s style,” Penelope murmured. “Her attack on Fort North fits her usual execution. Used to drive me up the wall, I always hated waiting all day for the cover of darkness.”

Spencer didn’t seem to be listening. “And without the commodore calling the shots in town, the military will take an uncharacteristically long time to mobilize and rally, especially if they’re caught off guard,” he muttered to himself.

Derek frowned at him. “Reid?”

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly. “The ransom. I took away her leverage for ransom from my uncle in escaping her ship, and now she’s going to take it out on him directly.”

“Hey.” Derek placed a hand on his arm. “No. This is  _ not _ your fault.”

“There’s no other explanation as to why she would pick Port Quantico as her target over the  _ Redwing _ ,” he said, looking him dead in the eyes. “If I was still in her brig, she’d be doing everything in her power to track down Penelope and take her out right now. She’s her biggest obstacle right now. But she  _ doesn’t  _ know where we are, and she doesn’t have the patience to go looking, so she’s taking out her anger on something immobile and representative of her fury -”

“Reid, you couldn’t have stayed on that ship,” Derek insisted. “Listen to me. You  _ had _ to escape.”

“I could have survived it longer -”

“ _ You shouldn’t have to _ .”

“Derek’s right, Spence,” JJ said. “It’s better that you escaped when you did. There was no telling how Cat’s brutality could have escalated, especially with the two of you at each other’s throats but  _ her _ being the only one calling the shots.”

“People are going to  _ die _ ,” Spencer insisted.

“You don’t know that it’s your fault,” Penelope told him. “There’s no way to know that. We don’t know what’s going through Cat’s head right now, what her motives might be - but we  _ do _ know her course, and we have a pretty good idea of her endgame here.”

JJ nodded solemnly, shaking her head. “If Cat sacks Port Quantico, no matter for what motive, or even what outcome comes from it… she’ll be infamous. That endeavor was something Penelope  _ never _ would have considered when she was the captain. If Cat pulls it off, and takes a chunk of the military with her…”

“She surpasses me,” Penelope added. 

Her first mate nodded. “And that’s what she really wants.”

“So what do we do about it?” Emily asked. Their faces turned to her, and she just looked them all right back. “We’re doing something about it, right? Well, what’s the plan?”

Elle sat back in her seat, gathered up her shells between her palms, and watched the five of them strategize without a word.

“She  _ is _ still just one single ship,” JJ said. “It would still only be a one-on-one fight if we take her on.”

“And we bolstered our armory while we were here, too,” Emily added.

“Right,” JJ nodded. “So our initial idea of a sea battle isn’t out of the question. We can still hold our own against her, our ships are similar enough in firepower, speed, and size.”

Penelope gave her a bewildered look. “Angel, I thought we talked about the situation of blowing holes in my ship.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but if she blows holes in  _ Emily’s _ , we’re all dead. We  _ might  _ have to blow holes in the  _ Queen _ , I’m sorry.”

Penelope sighed.

“There’s actually a way we could reduce the damage to the  _ Black Queen _ , Penelope,” Spencer piped up. 

“Which is?”

“Ambush her. Catch her off guard. Get close enough to use the new grappling hooks and board her before too many broadsides can be exchanged.”

“Boy Wonder, I love you, but I think you’re forgetting the fact that it’s kind of hard to ambush another ship while you’re sailing on the seas,” Penelope said. “As soon as she spots us on the horizon, she’ll rig up the cannons and just wait until we’re in range before she blows us to smithereens.”

Derek frowned and held up a hand. “Wait, wait,” he said, “Hold up a sec, Reid might be onto something here. Penelope, what was that you said earlier about Cat’s style? The cover-of-darkness thing?”

The captain blinked. “What, you mean how she used to keep trying to get me to wait until nightfall before every raid I led us on?”

“Yeah, that. You’re saying she won’t attack Port Quantico in the daytime, then?”

“She shouldn’t,” JJ mused. “Broad daylight sieges always seemed to make her nervous.”

“She attacked the  _ Profiler _ in broad daylight,” Emily countered.

“Yeah, and look what that got her. She crippled the commodore, sure, but Reid still got away and now she’s got the entire navy spread out across the archipelago looking for her with no ransom money to show for it.”

“Tell me again how this isn’t my fault,” Spencer said.

“It isn’t your fault because it’s just  _ not _ , now hear me out.” Derek tapped Port Quantico on the map and looked to the rest of the group. “Here’s Cat’s target. Here’s where Cat is.” He pointed. “And we’re southish from Keg Town, right, Babygirl? Where about?”

“Here,” Penelope said, circling a suspiciously blank expanse of sea in the south. “Greenaway isn’t on any maps.”

“Right. Okay. Reid suggested that we ambush the  _ Queen _ . If Cat shows up in Port Quantico during the day, she’s going to lurk around and wait for nightfall before she makes her move, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you were Cat, where would you choose to lurk?”

Everyone peered over at the map - except for Spencer, whose attention seemed to be occupied with something else as he furrowed his brows and gazed down into space. JJ answered his rhetorical question. “There,” she gestured to a tiny fleck of an island just off the coast of Port Quantico’s bay, a little ways up the shore. “That tiny island would be a perfect spot. I know what it looks like from town, the trees are plenty tall enough to hide a ship behind it.”

“And it’s right in her path, too,” Emily noted. “It’s the perfect staging area. She could swing around and be in the bay in fifteen minutes, tops, whenever she wanted.”

Derek nodded. “Exactly. What I’m saying is, what if we’re already there, waiting for her behind that island, and we attack her when she arrives?”

“Right on the governor’s doorstep?” Penelope bit her lip.

“Sure.”

“But look how close Cat is, compared to our location,” Emily said, pointing. “Even if we set sail right now, she’ll still get there first. We’re, what, five days out from this angle with favorable winds? She’ll make it in three.”

“No, she won’t.” JJ suddenly leaned over the map and brushed a strand of long, blonde hair behind her ear, her eyebrows creasing as her blue eyes darted over the map with a renewed intensity. 

Emily frowned and watched her.

JJ cracked a smile as realization dawned on her. “The winds blow from south to north in the archipelago this time of year,” she said. “Cat’s sailing due south against the wind. We’re sailing almost due north -  _ with _ the wind. We might be able to make it.”

“We  _ will  _ make it,” said Spencer. He had been staring fixedly at the map too, the gears turning in his brilliant mind. “Air currents between the landmasses, average speed of both of our ships both with and against the wind… if we leave today, we should both arrive in Port Quantico at the same time.” His dark eyes flicked up. “During the  _ day _ .”

Derek blinked. “Really? You sure about that?” he asked. Spencer leveled a flat, superior look at the weaponsmith, who pressed his lips together and nodded. “Right. Sorry.”

“We’ll make it,” Spencer assured them. “Give or take a few hours, but we’ll make it.”

“And then what do we do?” Emily crossed her arms.

“Broadside and board her,” JJ said. “Just like what she did to you - except this time with the element of surprise.”

“Even if she gets there an hour before we do, she’ll have to stay on the northern end of the island to stay out of sight of the Port Quantico scouts. She would never see us coming from the south,” said Spencer.

“Yeah, but Port Quantico will when we sail past the mouth of the bay,” Penelope warned.

“They won’t care if I fly the commodore’s colors,” Emily said. “You pirates might want to stay belowdecks while we do, but no one in the fort would think twice about the  _ Redwing _ sailing by.”

“Not even after your suspicious midnight departure when we commandeered it?” Derek asked.

Emily just shrugged. “I’ve… done that before. Left for a sail without warning. I just like being on the seas.”

“Hear, hear,” Penelope nodded. “Well. This… sounds like a plan. Did we make a plan? Is that what I hear?”

Everyone looked around, but was met with only nods from the group. “Yeah,” JJ said. “Everyone’s good?”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded. “I’m ready to quit waiting around. It’s about time Cat got what’s coming to her.”

“Damn right,” Spencer murmured.

“I’m with you,” Emily nodded. “I’ve got no qualms with this.”

“Perfect.” Penelope pressed her hands together. “Great. I suppose… we ought to tell the rest of the crew, then.”

“Yeah, the sooner we get sailing, the better,” JJ said.

“Leaving, then?” Elle suddenly piped up from her spot at the head of the table. Her shells had vanished, but Emily was fairly certain she hadn’t seen the witch stand up to put them away.

Penelope nodded as those of the group who had been sitting rose at last from their seats. “We are. It was so nice to see you again, Elle.”

“Likewise,” she smiled. “Same to you, Jennifer. As for you three, Emily, Derek, Spencer, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I hope we’ll see you again,” Spencer said.

“You will,” was Elle’s only response, paired with a small, knowing smile.

The three of them looked at each other - but, as ever, the high witch of Greenaway would say no more on her cryptic message, and simply waved at them as JJ and Penelope led them out.

* * *

The  _ Redwing _ was on the sea once more, the isle of Greenaway to their rudder, by noon that same day. Excitement flared in Emily’s chest with every breath of sea air she took into her lungs, as she looked up above her and saw the billowing sails fill with favorable winds. 

They were back on the hunt at last.

Emily did a sweep of the cargo hold, taking stock of their supplies alone, and when she was done she headed back up the steps for the hatch that would lead her to the deck.

Spencer, at that same moment, had the same idea. The two of them blinked as they both reached for the steep railing at the same time and noticed the other was there.

“Hey, there,” Emily smiled.

“Hey, you heading up?” he replied.

“Yeah.”

“Taking the helm from Tara already? It’s barely been an hour.”

She shrugged. “No, I just… wanted the fresh air, you know. Probably going to just stand on the forecastle and gaze off into the horizon while I think about life.”

He huffed a laugh. “That was going to be my plan, too,” he said.

“Great minds,” Emily laughed. 

“Yeah.”

Neither of them made a move to ascend the steep steps to the hatch. Emily was suddenly reminded of a time when they did that same thing before, both of them wandering to the bow to clear their heads. A time that now felt a lifetime away, so long it was almost a shock to remember it was less than a month ago. 

A time when the biggest thing they had to worry about was their imminent engagement.

From the look on Spencer’s face, his mind had taken him back to that time, too. Emily rubbed a thumb over the steep railing her hand rested on.  _ Things are a fair bit more complicated now. _

“What happens when we beat Cat?” Spencer murmured.

Emily frowned. “What?”

“When we beat her. You know what happens then, don’t you.”

They hadn’t spoken of it. They both knew. No one had wanted to talk about what would happen once their whirlwind adventure was over, but everyone knew that moment would inevitably come. 

_ We’re going to have to say goodbye to JJ and Penelope and the rest of the crew. We’re going back to Port Quantico. I’m returning to my post as the commodore. He’s returning to his post as the governor’s nephew. _

_ And he’s still going to have to propose. We’re still going to have to marry. I’m still going to have to give up my career in favor of being a wife and mother. We’re still going to have to have kids, I’m gonna have to - _

She glanced back down at her hand. “I… do,” she admitted.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“I don’t suppose… you’re any more comfortable with the idea than you were before.”

He just shook his head. 

“Good, neither am I. No offense.”

“No, I get it, it’s okay,” he said, offering her a tight smile. “It’s just… I thought it was complicated  _ before _ . It’s so much more complicated now.”

“You mean with regards to Derek.”

Spencer glanced down at his hand, resting on the other banister. He looked uncomfortable. Uncomfortable like he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with her.

Emily just left the railing and took a seat on a nearby crate. She patted the crate beside it, offering him to sit down with a small smile. “It’s okay, it doesn’t bother me or anything.”

His mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said, “But we’re both your friends, and…”

“So? It still doesn’t bother me.” She leaned back on her hands, her fingers gripping the edge of the crate behind her. “Come on. We can go all the way up to the forecastle to talk about this, or we can just do it here. I’m feeling lazy.”

Spencer glanced up at the hatch, then slid his hand off the banister and took the seat on the box beside Emily’s, his shoulders curving in.

Emily tapped the heel of her boot back against her crate, making a soft  _ thump  _ each time. “Have you… told him about… the thing?” she asked at length.

He sighed. “No,” he admitted. “Morgan doesn’t know anything. I didn’t want to tell him before, but now… I don’t know how I can bring it up without shocking him or making him think I was hiding it from him intentionally.”

“I mean, you  _ were _ hiding it from him intentionally.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, “I… just don’t want him to think I’ve had the intention of marrying you this whole time, and was just… leading him on, back on Greenaway.”

Emily shrugged in lieu of a response. She wasn’t sure what to say to that. 

“I wish I could just… marry  _ him _ instead,” he whispered. “Why can’t that be allowed?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured back. “How does your uncle feel about it?”

Spencer’s head snapped up. “He doesn’t… know,” he said. “About me. He doesn’t know.”

“But what about same-sex couples in general?”

“I don’t know,” he said, exasperated. “I’ve never heard him talk about it, no one brings it up,  _ ever _ , I have no  _ idea  _ what he feels about it. And I don’t want to tell him, because…” He ran a hand over his hair, digging his fingers into the strands tied back with the ribbon. “I mean, I can’t even imagine my uncle…  _ disowning _ me or something, over  _ anything _ , he’s just never shown to be that kind of person to cut ties over something so little, and he really loves me a lot and I love him too… but I don’t  _ know _ . I don’t know how he’d react if I told him… I don’t want to run that risk.” He scrunched up his face as he shook his head. “Even though I can’t  _ possibly  _ see it going badly with him, but then again how  _ couldn’t _ it…”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Emily said. “I mean… you know him better than I do.”

He let out a mirthless laugh. “He’s usually got a surprise or two up his sleeve, my uncle. I just don’t know if it’d turn out okay for me or not and I don’t know if I want him to know… in case it doesn’t.”

“I get it.”

“So… I don’t know. It’s all a mess.”

Emily tipped her head to the side, quirking her mouth in a sideways frown. “Do you think you might be able to convince your uncle to put off the proposal pressure, at least for a while?” she asked. “I mean, you could pull the whole, ‘I was just kidnapped, cut me some slack,’ angle. It could give us some more time to figure out what we want to do. Think it’d work?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled.

“Then how about we plan on that, for now?” Emily suggested. “And who knows. Maybe this way, we can work out a meeting with the governor and I can actually give him  _ my  _ input on the whole situation.”

“We keep… pushing this stuff off,” Spencer muttered. “All of it. Delaying the inevitable. Deciding we’ll cross all these unpleasant bridges when we get to them. And I like the idea of ignoring them for the time being… but there’s going to come a time when we can’t ignore them anymore.”

Emily glanced down at the boards under her crate. He was right, of course. They did have an awful habit of choosing to focus exclusively on the moment - all of them, really. 

“Well,” she said at length, “The fact of the matter is, there’s not much we really  _ can _ do regarding our futures after our battle with Cat from where we stand right now. I mean  _ physically  _ stand. We’re on a ship in the middle of the sea.” She cracked a smile. “I agree with you, I think we need to talk about it, but it’s no use berating ourselves about it while we’re still on this ship.”

He shrugged.

There were others on this deck - not many, but a few of the crew here and there. Kate was asleep on one of the hammocks in the back. The door to the galley kitchen at the far end of the space opened, and someone snuck out with a snack in his hand. 

_ Derek? _

Emily watched him over Spencer’s shoulder - Spencer’s back was to the galley, after all, so he hadn’t noticed. She adjusted herself on her crate and glanced about at the rafters in an airy, inconspicuous manner. “Still,” she said a little louder than usual, “There’s still the matter of  _ Derek _ to discuss.”

Spencer’s gaze snapped to hers - as did Derek’s, who had frozen midstep with his contraband snack halfway to his mouth. Emily flicked her eyebrows at the weaponsmith, beckoning him over, before she finally let her innocent gaze fall back on Spencer.

He looked too conflicted to notice her attention straying over his shoulder. “Well, what do you want me to  _ do  _ about that?” he asked.

“I think you already know what I’m going to suggest.”

He sighed.

Emily grinned, and looked at Derek approaching from behind. “Don’t look now,” she chirped.

“What?” Spencer frowned, immediately reaching back on the crate and turning around - only to find Derek halted a few paces away. He blinked. “Oh,” he said. His pitch had jumped a little higher.

“I heard my name?” the weaponsmith said, cracking a grin. “Talking about me, Pretty Boy?”

“No,” he said with a breathless laugh. “No, uh, we were just… talking.”

Emily jabbed her chin at Derek’s snack. “Whatcha got there?” she crowed. “Contraband? On  _ my _ ship?”

Derek raised an eyebrow and lifted the piece of bread he’d stolen from the galley. “This? A man needs to eat, Emily. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“That wasn’t even two hours ago!”

“Is that  _ jam _ ?” Spencer exclaimed. “You opened one of the witches’ preserves?”

“Yeah?” he replied, taking a bite out of the bread - indeed, slathered with a red jam. 

Spencer just stared at him. “You do know that preserves go bad  _ much _ more quickly once they’ve been opened, right?”

“You didn’t open the big jar, did you?” Emily asked, her smirk falling.

Derek, instead of answering with words, merely chewed very slowly without breaking eye contact with her. 

That was enough of a confirmation. Emily and Spencer both closed their eyes and let out suffering sighs.

“Hey,” he said through his mouthful of bread, “Look. I did not know about the going-bad thing.”

“Guess we’re going to be eating a lot of sandwiches on this journey,” Emily sighed.

“Oh, good. More snacks for me, then,” Derek smirked, shoving the final piece into his mouth and munching happily.

Emily shot a look to Spencer, who was already pressing his lips together in an exasperated but resigned expression as he watched the weaponsmith eat. His eyes flicked sheepishly to her. She raised her brows and said, “You like  _ this _ guy? He’s a heathen.”

“Shut up.”

“So,” Derek grinned, pulling up a nearby box and sitting himself down on it after he swallowed his snack. His box was a fair bit smaller than the crates, so he rested his elbows on his knees and swept his upwards grin between Emily and Spencer. “What  _ were _ you talking about just now? Good things about me, I hope?”

“No, I’ve been making fun of your  _ friend  _ here for his taste in men for the past twenty minutes,” Emily grinned. 

“She was not,” Spencer frowned.

Derek narrowed his eyes up at Emily, who was still smirking like the devil. “I don’t think I believe you, Emily, I’m gonna have to side with Reid on this one,” he declared, beaming up at Spencer with a soft smile.

“Favoritism,” she immediately called.

“You’ve got that shit-eating grin on your face that you always get when you make fun of him,” Derek said. “What did you think I’d say?”

“Do I have a tell? Damn.”

“Pretty obvious one, too.”

Emily swore again good-naturedly.

Derek idly rubbed his palms together and cocked his head up at Spencer. “So,” he asked him, spreading his hands, “What’d I miss? What’s this ‘manner of Derek’ that needs to be discussed?”

Spencer bit his lip and looked to Emily, who simply raised her eyebrows right back.  _ Do it. Now’s as good a time as ever. Tell him. _

The weaponsmith’s adoring gaze sobered a little. He glanced between them. Slowly, his dark brows began to furrow somewhat. “Is… everything okay?” he asked.

“Spencer?” Emily said, smoothly deflecting his attention off her and onto the person who really deserved to break the news of their situation to him. “ _ Is _ everything okay?”

Spencer just swallowed.

Derek looked openly concerned now. After looking between them a few more times, he furrowed his brows even deeper at Spencer, who was tactfully ignoring his gaze. He jabbed a thumb at Emily. “What’s going on? Is she pregnant or something?”

“ _ What!? _ ” Spencer exclaimed.

“No!” Emily snapped. “ _ No _ , I’m not  _ pregnant _ , Jesus, Derek…” She shuddered. “No. Uh-uh.”

“Okay, well, what is it? What’s wrong? Neither of you are saying anything and I’m getting worried here,” Derek insisted. “Should I be worried about you or not?”

“Look, I…” Spencer closed his eyes and held them shut for a moment. “I’m… I’m fine. That’s not what this is.”

“So what is it?”

He worried with the edge of his long, white sleeve and twitched his lips to the side in a quiet frown. “I… I never told you why… why I went with Emily on the  _ Profiler _ in the first place, did I?” he eventually murmured. “Why I was even there when Cat attacked.”

Derek lowered his gaze in thought, but he came up empty. “You… just said you were accompanying her on a patrol,” he said.

“I didn’t say why?”

“No.”

Derek looked to Emily for an explanation, but she just angled her head back at Spencer and didn’t say a word.  _ This isn’t my place to tell you. _

Spencer swallowed. “Well, I… I think I need to tell you now.”

“Tell me what?” Derek asked gently, worry still plain on his face. “Reid, why were you on that ship?”

“To…” His next two words were barely more than a whisper, barely loud enough to be heard over the drone of the sea waves against the ship. “To propose.”

And then, those same waves were the only sounds between the three of them.

“To Emily,” Spencer added quietly. Not that it mattered.

Derek just stared at him. His expression was… unreadable. “You’re…” he said, “You’re engaged?”

“No,” Emily finally interceded, slowly. “Not yet. Cat showed up before he got the chance to do it.”

“I didn’t even want to in the first place,” Spencer insisted. Derek’s gaze was fixed on his own, but there was a look in the weaponsmith’s eyes that looked like he wasn’t truly seeing him anymore. Spencer seemed to notice that shift, too, because his words started coming faster. “I didn’t have a choice, Morgan, please believe me, the  _ last _ thing I want to do is marry one of my best friends, but I really don’t have much of a choice here and neither does she…”

“And I don’t want to marry him, either,” Emily explained. “Not him or any other man.”

“Exactly,” Spencer said, turning desperately to Derek once more. “Listen, Morgan, I… I’m a member of the nobility, an arranged marriage was always in my future, my uncle… Governor Gideon figured this union would be the least painful for me and Emily both, but that still didn’t make me want it any more…”

“ _ Union _ .” Derek blinked, shook his head, like he was still processing his words.

Spencer swallowed. “I loved you before I ever set foot on that ship,” he whispered. He went to reach for Derek’s hand, but stopped himself. Derek didn’t move. “Morgan, I… couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole time. I knew we weren’t anything back then - I don’t even really know what we are  _ now  _ \- but I kept thinking about you and how you might react when you inevitably found out. I felt so bad about it, that’s… one of the reasons I put off actually asking her for as long as I did.”

“And you put it off for so long,” Derek murmured, “Cat took matters into her own hands.”

Spencer didn’t dare breathe as Derek seemed to come to a resolution. Emily didn’t breathe, either. She didn’t want to intrude in any way… or inadvertently tip the scales on this perilous of an interaction.

“Reid…” Derek shook his head, tipping his head to the side, “Why am I only hearing about all this now?”

“How was I  _ supposed _ to tell you before?” Spencer exclaimed. “I was kidnapped, shot at, healed by a witch… where in there would have been the best time to mention it? While I was being rescued? After I woke up from my coma? During…” He shot a quick glance around the cabin again before he softened his voice somewhat and kept on. “During that time you kissed me after the bonfire? Did you really want me saying I’m going to have a fiancee  _ then _ ?”

“Well… no, probably not then -”

“Then  _ when? _ Because after the bonfire…” Spencer trailed off, at a loss for the right words. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had, okay?” he admitted. “The longer I spent with you on that island after the bonfire, the more I knew - I  _ knew _ \- you really, really needed to know about the expectations my uncle has for me and Emily. But I just… I couldn’t bring myself to say it whenever I was with you. And I’m… I’m sorry.”

Derek hung his head, and Spencer’s eyes widened in dismay, guilt, dread… but instead of getting up and walking away, Derek’s dark hand found Spencer’s pale one bunched on his knee and eased its grip until he held it. The weaponsmith met his eyes and even offered him a somber smile. “It’s not your fault,” he told him, holding onto his hand a little tighter. “I get it, Reid, I’m sorry. Don’t beat yourself up.”

The barely-reined relief flooding Spencer’s features was enough to warm Emily’s heart, looking at it. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Hey. It’s okay.” Derek gave him one more smile before looking back to Emily. He didn’t let go of Spencer’s hand.

Emily just looked right back.

“So what happens next?” the weaponsmith asked. “Where do we go from here?”

She shrugged, lost for words herself. “We… go home,” she said. “After this Cat business is done.”

“And then what?” he asked. “Are you… Are you still going to be expected to…”

“I’m… still probably going to have to make my proposal to Emily official at some point after we get back, yes,” Spencer said. “Being held for ransom doesn’t exactly negate those expectations for very long.”

“Can you… I don’t know, talk to your uncle?” he asked. 

“I can try.”

“That’s the plan, as of this moment,” Emily said.

Derek nodded, but he still didn’t look comforted. “And… and you’re going to try to get out of it, right?” he asked.

“I’m going to try,” Spencer said, “I’m really going to try, Morgan, but… if I can’t…” His gaze lowered to their joined hands. “I just… think you need to know that this is something that really could happen. We could get back and I could be married to Emily in pretty short succession.”

Neither of them said anything.

Derek looked to Emily. “And you’re sure you don’t want it, either?”

“I’m positive,” she said. “I love Spencer to death, of course, but marriage… no. I don’t want that. Never have.”

“But even if, somehow, I  _ do _ get out of this engagement…” Spencer said to Derek, “I don’t know how that’s even going to be any good for us. We still can’t see each other, and no priest would ever marry  _ us _ instead…”

“Not to mention, Derek,” Emily added, the uncomfortable recollection hitting her all of a sudden, “I’m still probably going to be under a legal obligation to arrest you for breaking Penelope out of jail. You might not be able to see each other, period, not if you’re in prison.”

“I know, I know,” Derek sighed. “We’ll just… cross those bridges when we get to them, I guess. No use worrying about it now. We’ll figure something out.”

Spencer and Emily shared a look, and Emily felt her gut twist for them - and for herself.  _ Again, with the putting off of important discussions. Choosing to cross all these uncomfortable bridges all at once at the end. _

“I wish there was some other option,” Spencer said. “Anything to not have to deal with this.”

“But what other option do we have?” Emily said, resignedly. Her two friends nodded morosely.

Because they didn’t have another. Port Quantico didn’t offer another option for them. The three of them were going home, sure, but home was a maze of cattle chutes and hoops to jump through and barriers… and there was no indication that that would change anytime soon.

If they went home and stayed there now, they would be forced to deal with all of that for the rest of their lives. And none of them would hope of escape.

_ I wish there was some other option. _


	16. Shards of a Broken Promise

Spencer didn’t see Morgan for the rest of the day after he and Emily broke the engagement news on him. He figured the weaponsmith still needed some time to digest it, and he didn’t blame him. He knew it had to have been a shock. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could just be accepted on a whim.

Night fell outside the ship. Penelope was taking the night shift at the helm, but everyone else was mostly belowdecks scattered among the hammocks, asleep or settling down. 

Spencer pulled the tie out of his hair as he approached the hammock he’d claimed as his own. His white shirt was untucked, his feet bare in preparation for sleep.

But he paused before climbing into his hammock, one hand on the edge.

Flicked his gaze over to a different one.

_ That _ one.

He looked around - the occupant was still nowhere to be found. There were other crewmembers close by, but no one was paying him any attention. No one would notice. Spencer shifted his jaw as he considered the idea forming in his mind.

_ I’m exhausted and sick of being so goddamn stressed all the time. I haven’t been able to relax hardly at all. Everything’s too big to deal with right now and all I want is to just feel  _ comfortable _ for once _ .

_ Screw it. _

He abandoned his own hammock and gingerly climbed into and made himself comfortable in the other.

In Morgan’s.

He settled himself in and looked around his new spot. It didn’t feel any different, from a physical standpoint - it was the same military-issued sleeping arrangement as every other one on the  _ Redwing _ . Thick gray material, broad but not  _ too  _ reminiscent of a cocoon when he stretched out in it. 

But still. The fact that he knew it had been Morgan’s for the majority of his time on the ship made it feel  _ different _ . It sort of smelled like him, too, which was kind of nice. 

Spencer found himself smiling to himself a little bit as he exhaled, put his hands behind his head, and studied the wood grain of the deck above his head. There were new patterns to memorize here.

Lying, essentially, in Morgan’s bed. 

Something he hadn’t done since the night after the bonfire, he realized.

He put his arms down and peered over the edge of the hammock, looking for Morgan’s return. Luke and Tara were murmuring in low conversation a little ways down. A few hammocks over, JJ rolled over in her sleep.

It didn’t take long for Morgan to appear at the end of the room - a few minutes later, the weaponsmith descended the steps from the main deck, closed the hatch behind him, and began making his way to the back of the ship with a yawn. Towards his hammock.

Towards Spencer.

A jolt of mischievous excitement went through him in anticipation of being found, but Spencer forced himself to school his features into casual neutrality and fix his gaze firmly on the whorling wood grains above him.

_ No one else might have paid me any attention, but he sure will. And that  _ is  _ kind of what I wanted.  _

Footsteps. Closer and closer, second by second.

_ Don’t look, don’t make it look like you’re waiting for him, just act casually like you belong here…  _

And then they stopped.

It took every ounce of Spencer’s self-restraint to keep his eyes on the ceiling like nothing was wrong… and to not crack a grin. The latter was the hardest bit.

“What are you doing, Pretty Boy?” 

The amused rumble in his voice finally had him flicking his gaze to the weaponsmith’s face. His hands were in his pockets and his head was tipped to one side. And he was smiling. Dark eyes just slightly narrowed with mischief.

Spencer couldn’t fight his own grin anymore, gazing up at him. “Nothing,” he said. 

Morgan’s eyebrows ticked higher. “Last I checked,” he said, “Your hammock’s over there.”

“I know,” was his only response.

They looked at each other for a moment longer. There was a tight anticipation in Spencer’s chest… but not altogether an unpleasant one. Waiting. Morgan glanced down at his feet.

And then… back to his face, eyebrows up and still smiling gently. “You want me to join you?” he asked. “Or are we switching for the night?”

Spencer could feel his face start to warm, but he chose to ignore it.  _ No point in being coy, at this point. That’s far too much effort. _

“I was… hoping the former,” he admitted softly. He didn’t speak too loudly, neither of them did - there were other crewmembers sleeping or trying to sleep nearby, after all. He didn’t want to disturb them.

“Were you, now.”

Oh, his face was definitely warm. “I just…” he murmured. “I… didn’t want to be alone.” 

Morgan’s amused grin fell a little bit.

Spencer glanced away. “I know last time… last time we didn’t really  _ think _ about sleeping together, it just kinda… happened…” he said, “And I mean sleeping as in  _ sleeping _ , obviously, I’m not talking about anything else, but, I, uh… I dunno.” He turned a sheepish, querying glance up to his handsome face. “Would you… mind?”

Morgan considered him. His expression was unreadable… but damn if he didn’t look beautiful.

Spencer shrugged up his shoulders. “I can go back if you want, or if you think it’s too much…”

“No, no, it’s… it’s not too much,” he replied. 

“Oh. Okay.”

“So…” Morgan said, narrowing his eyes again, “This is what you want, huh?”

Spencer blinked. “Y-yeah?” he said. But Morgan’s smile had taken on a slight mischievous edge, and suddenly Spencer wasn’t feeling so confident about what he’d just committed himself to. He furrowed his brows. “Why, why do you ask?”

“No reason. I’ll be right back. Let me find a blanket.”

“I’m not…” Spencer started, frowning, but Morgan was already gone.  _ Cold _ , he’d meant to say. He was feeling a little  _ too _ warm, if anything, having to explicitly ask Morgan to join him, like that night on Greenaway. To sleep with him.

_ And just sleep _ , he tried to clarify,  _ It’s not like I was asking for anything else. I just want to be held… just sleep… with him…  _

The heat in his face was clear that he wasn’t doing a very good job of convincing himself.

_ Listen. You asked for this when you came over in the first place. You knew he’d probably find some way to tease you, that’s just how he is. You wanted to sleep with his arms around you. Don’t let him tease you out of that.  _

Footsteps again. Spencer had tried to keep following the trails of the wood grain again, but that anticipation in his chest was making it markedly harder to focus. 

And then he took one look at Morgan’s approaching figure and every train of thought was stopped  _ dead _ in its tracks.

The weaponsmith was barely containing a self-satisfied smirk of his own as he strode languidly back up to his side, barefoot, his boots having been abandoned at some point during his time finding a blanket. The blanket was, indeed, draped over one arm. 

One  _ bare _ , muscled arm.

Because he’d abandoned his  _ shirt _ , too.

Every function in Spencer’s body seemed to have completely stopped. Heart beat. Breathing. Cognitive function. His stare just swept over and over and over the contours of muscle. The breadth of his shoulders. Down his arms, up the flat planes of his abdomen, up over his chest, the column of his neck… 

_ Oh, boy _ .

“Is there a problem?” Morgan’s amused voice wove its way through his fixation.

_ I’ve seen this before, _ Spencer thought absently in the back of his mind, still struggling to form a coherent thought, not fully recognizing yet that Morgan had asked him a question.  _ I’ve seen Morgan like this before. Once. That day about a year ago, when I was in town with Uncle Gideon, we passed his forge and I caught myself glancing through the open window to see if maybe he was in there, working. And he was. With no shirt on. Working at the hot forge. And I panicked and looked away as fast as I could because it felt like an intrusion to see him like that and I wasn’t sure why my heart had seemed to jump into my throat. I tried to forget what I had just seen but that split-second image was burned into my mind’s eye for days…  _

_ I know why my heart jumped like that now, of course. _

_ Morgan’s hot as  _ hell _ . _

The weaponsmith raised a dark eyebrow the longer he took to process, and a violent blush swept up Spencer’s face.  _ Pick your jaw off the floor, for God’s sake…  _

“Wh… what happened to your  _ shirt _ ?” he managed to hiss - he would have exclaimed it, but there were still people within earshot and he was  _ not _ about to alert them to his current crisis.

“My shirt?” Morgan just flicked his gaze at him. “I don’t know, what happened to your shoes?”

He scoffed, still flustered and caught very off-guard. “What do you  _ mean _ what happened to my shoes? I don’t wear shoes to sleep!” he hissed.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. Fine muscles flickered with the motion. “Well, when it’s hot like this summer has been, I don’t wear a shirt to sleep. Gets too sweaty. Now move over.”

Spencer just gripped the edge of the hammock and made no moves to make room just yet. His heart was still struggling to make up for the beats it had skipped over. “You didn’t  _ tell _ me that,” he insisted.

“I  _ asked  _ you if this was what you wanted, Reid, I thought you _ knew _ .”

“No, I didn’t  _ know! _ You had a shirt on after the  _ bonfire _ , and I haven’t seen you asleep since!”

“Okay, well, now you know. Is there a problem?”

Spencer pressed his lips together and tried to steady his breathing.  _ Yes, there’s a problem because I wasn’t prepared to sleep next to your bare chest when I made the decision to come over tonight…  _

_ But also no, there isn’t, because now that I see it… I really, really want you to put your arms around me, and hold me against you, and I want to touch you and feel if your muscles are as firm as they… look…  _

He swallowed and said, in the smallest voice possible, “No.”

“Are you sure?” Morgan’s radiant grin was only growing. “You still look kind of tense, are you getting a fever or something?”

“ _ No _ , I’m not getting a  _ fever _ , I’m kind of tense because you’re  _ standing in front of me without a - _ ” The more Spencer explained, the more satisfied Morgan looked. He closed his mouth indignantly.  _ He’s messing with me. He’s messing with me on purpose, he knew full well I’d react like this, this is getting me back for showing up in his hammock unannounced…  _ “You know what? Forget it,” he blushed. “Just… lie down, or whatever. Make yourself comfortable. Geez.”

“Make myself comfortable? It’s  _ my _ hammock.”

“Just… hurry up.”

He just shrugged. “Whatever you say,” he said, dropping the blanket onto the floor. Spencer, his face burning as ever, shifted as far over on the hammock as he dared without tipping it over. After some struggle - including one or two instances where the swaying bed almost dumped them both onto the ground - Morgan finally managed to settle himself down beside him.

_ Right  _ beside him.

The hammocks had seemed a  _ lot _ roomier when it had only been Spencer in them, he realized somewhat belatedly. With both of them in it together, as Morgan finally got himself settled against him, there wasn’t a scrap of extra space. 

Not a scrap.

The sides of the hammock pressed their chests, their hips, their legs firmly against one another’s. And, of course, their faces, as well.

_ This was  _ not _ well thought out. _

If Morgan could sense his discomfort - and how could he  _ not _ , with there being  _ absolutely _ no space between their bodies in this position - he didn’t seem to care. If anything, the amused glimmer in his dark eyes only grew. “Hi, there,” he murmured with a smirk.

Spencer could feel the vibrations of his voice in his bare chest through the fabric of his own shirt, sandwiched between them. In any other situation, the feeling would have been soothing. Now, however, it only emphasized this massive detail he had somehow managed to overlook, and made his face burn a little hotter. He frowned and muttered, “This was a mistake.”

Morgan laughed - another soothing rumble. “Bit of a tighter squeeze than you were expecting, Pretty Boy?”

“They felt so roomy when it was just me,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, me… too.”

He tried to glance away from Morgan’s face, but the only other thing within his field of vision from this perspective was the musculature of his shoulders, which he was  _ not _ prepared to study at this close range just yet. Especially not with their hips and everything below them being forced against each other. 

Which, altogether, made the reflex inclination of averting his gaze a cumbersome and awkward gesture. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m… I’m okay. With this.” He raised his eyebrows in a hesitant question. “As… long as you are, too?”

_ As long as I’m…  _

From the back of Spencer’s mind, appearing almost on reflex even after all that had happened, a few words echoed in, an echo of,  _ You promised yourself - _

_ No. _

_ No…  _

Spencer swallowed, but nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Yeah.”

_ I thought that I silenced that thought. _

They lay there for a moment longer with the gentle swaying of the ship, feeling each other breathe. Spencer tried to relax. It wasn’t working very well. 

_ I thought I didn’t have to worry about that anymore, that promise. _

Morgan’s expression was soft as he studied him. “Is this what you had in mind for tonight?” he asked.

Spencer quirked his lips to the side in consideration. His heart rate had started to race, even after just those three words, and he was desperate to fight off that one thought that was trying to creep back. “Actually…” he cleared his throat as he murmured, “I, uh… I was kind of… like…” As he struggled to form the right words, he brought his hand up to Morgan’s arm, warm under his palm. “Like… more like…” 

He guided his arm around his waist. Morgan seemed to get the hint and shifted to hold him more securely. “Like this?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Spencer breathed. He shifted downwards a little and tucked his head under Morgan’s chin, leaning his cheek against his solid, bare chest. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

_ Soothing. _

_ This is soothing. _

Morgan rubbed his hand over his shoulder as he held him. “I like this,” he said in his low voice. 

The corner of Spencer’s lip flickered upward against his chest. He let himself be held for a while longer, but the soothing sensation of Morgan’s arms around him and his hands on his back started to fade. A tight nervous feeling replaced it.

Not the exciting anticipatory feeling, either. This was different. The kind of nervous feeling that came when there were words that needed to be said.

And Spencer wasn’t in the business of letting any words go unsaid anymore. 

_ That’s what got that mantra stuck so deeply in my head in the first place. _

“Morgan…” he said, barely more than a mumble.

“Yeah?”

He tucked his shoulders up a little higher. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you about Emily earlier,” he said.

“Hey.” A hand came up and gently stroked over his hair. Lips briefly pressed against the top of his head. “Don’t worry about that. I don’t blame you.”

“Yeah, well… it still kind of bothers me.”

“How come?”

The brush of Morgan’s fingers through his hair sent trails of warmth down his spine, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give in to that touch just then. “A long time ago,” Spencer muttered, “I… I realized that I really liked being around you. Like… more than I probably should have.”

“How long ago are we talking about here?” Morgan said, a hint of a grin in his voice. “How long have you been sweet on me?”

Spencer wasn’t smiling. Morgan seemed to pick up on that, and his hand in his hair slowed its gentle stroking. 

“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “I can’t pin it down exactly, I just… kind of slowly realized it. And when I did… when I started noticing that I wanted  _ your  _ attention more than the attention of most of the other rich ladies at parties and galas… when I realized I was thinking about you, even  _ dreaming _ about you… I panicked.”

Morgan’s hand stilled entirely.

“And… I made a promise to myself,” he continued. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t let my mind drift towards you anymore. As… as a defense mechanism, I guess. I mean, what good could possibly come from it, you know? I still liked girls, and that made it a little easier, but harboring an… an affection for a  _ man,  _ too… there was no point in agonizing over something like that.”

There was no response from the weaponsmith. Spencer lifted his head so they could see eye to eye - Morgan’s gaze was downcast, deep in thought. He raised his dark eyes to Spencer’s when he did.

Spencer swallowed at the full, raw attention. “I mean…” he said, “I knew… somewhere down the road, there was going to be pressure on me to marry a woman, like how there’s pressure on me to propose to Emily right now. So, to minimize emotional strain and reputational damage all around… I made that promise.”

“Not to think about me.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan furrowed his brows. “So… why did you break it? You broke it, didn’t you?”

“I let you kiss me against a tree,  _ yeah _ , I broke it, Morgan. Obliterated it, honestly. You could make the argument that alcohol had a significant impact on the lowering of my inhibitions that night, but… spending so much time around you, being physically unable to  _ not _ think about you while you were carrying me and digging that bullet out of my leg and hauling me over the side of the  _ Redwing _ trying to get me into the jollyboat on Greenaway… Morgan, I…” he sighed, “I  _ really like you _ , and being around you this whole time just amplified that feeling louder than that promise.”

“But if you obliterated it, why are you still worried?”

“Because it’s not  _ gone _ ,” he insisted. He squeezed his eyes shut and took his volume down a bit - there were still people trying to sleep within earshot. “It’s still there,” he said, quieter. “I still hear it, I’m still telling myself not to think about you in a romantic sense… maybe it’s because of the reality with Emily, maybe it’s because we’re sailing closer to Port Quantico with every day. I don’t know why it’s back, I just know that it  _ is _ .”

Morgan went back to smoothing his hand over his hair, brushing it gently off his temples. Spencer leaned into his touch and closed his eyes, brows furrowed from his internal conflict. 

“This is really messing you up, huh,” Morgan said.

Spencer scoffed. “I didn’t even realize how much of a living hell it made my life until I was able to forget everything else while we were on Greenaway,” he admitted. “And now that we’re practically back home again, and I’m about to shoulder all my usual expectations and responsibilities…”

“Come here.” Morgan wrapped his arms more fully around him and held him tight.

Spencer let himself be held. “I don’t want to lose this now that I have it,” he whispered into his chest.

“I know,” he said. “Trust me, neither do I, Reid.”

They lay in mutual silence for a long time. Someone had blown out all the lanterns but the one at the far end of the space by the steps, so it was mostly dark where they were. The faintest blue glow of moonlight faded in from the port windows here and there along the hull, preventing it from being pitch-dark.

“Think Emily’ll be able to buy us some time?” Morgan murmured at length.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Spencer leaned his head into the hammock to look back up at the weaponsmith’s handsome face again. “This is… just such a new thing for me. Being with you. And it’s not a bad thing, it’s just… new. And fragile. Like… like I could break it if I so much as look at it wrong.”

“I know what you feel,” Morgan said.

Spencer nodded. “I guess I’m just afraid that the moment I set foot back at home for real, all those old fears and anxieties are going to take over and I won’t be able to bring myself to… to even  _ try  _ to preserve this.”

“Reid,” Morgan’s voice was gentle. Hesitant. “Do you love me?”

He was nodding before he even realized it. “Yes,” he whispered. He then shook his head at the small flare of soft happiness that had appeared as he said that word. As he affirmed it out loud. 

“What?” Morgan smiled. “What’s so funny?”

“I… don’t think I’ve ever said that to someone before. It’s just so new for me… and new ‘cause it’s… well, it’s  _ you _ .”

“And you think this isn’t new for  _ me _ ? You’re the first guy I’ve ever loved like this. First and only, Reid.”

Spencer felt the corner of his mouth curve upwards against his will. “Really?” he asked. “You love me, huh?”

“Really.”

He couldn’t contain his smile anymore. He let it overtake his features. 

Morgan grinned right back and tapped Spencer’s head with a finger. “What’s the statistical probability of that happening, huh? You and me falling in love with each other at the same time.”

“Not nearly high enough for it to be real,” he admitted, grinning and shaking his head.

“Well, it’s real. And fragile as it is, I don’t think it’s something that either of us are gonna abandon at the drop of a hat, promises to ourselves or no promises. I know  _ I’m  _ gonna work as hard as I can to be with you after this.” He raised his eyebrows. “How about you?”

Spencer lowered his gaze as he smiled. And nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll put the work in, too.”

“That’s good. ‘Cause that’s the only way this is gonna work out, you and me.”

He grinned. “Okay.”

_ I love him. _

_ He’s beautiful and real and here and I love him. _

There were too many emotions for Spencer to try to convey through more words, so he settled for the next best thing. He hugged Morgan a little tighter around the waist, closed the distance between their smiles, and kissed him. 

Morgan exhaled as he responded, smirking against his lips. The kiss was long, drawn out, and slow. Spencer trailed the tips of his fingers over the muscles of Morgan’s back, curving his chest, his body, a little closer to his as he kissed him, not caring that they were pressed together, not caring anymore that Morgan had decided to discard his shirt before he joined him. Now that Spencer was a little more used to the sight, he could just enjoy it.

When they parted to look at each other again, neither of them could fight their grins. Morgan took a deep breath and let it out slow, dragging his fingers through Spencer’s hair again as he tipped his head and considered him languidly. “So  _ that’s _ why you really wanted to be in this hammock tonight,” he murmured with a grin.

Spencer gave a little shrug in response. “I might have taken that particular outcome into consideration,” he admitted, kissing him again - more briefly this time. “Among other things.”

Morgan lifted his eyebrows in interest. “Oh? Among  _ what _ other things, Reid?”

He furrowed his brows briefly, smiling despite himself. “Sleeping with you? Is that not the obvious?” he said. 

Morgan blinked and raised his own brows even higher, and horrified heat suddenly washed through Spencer’s entire body as he realized what he had just insinuated. “I…  _ sleeping _ , Morgan, I meant  _ sleeping _ , not -”

“You wanted to  _ sleep  _ with me?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that, I -”

“Should I have taken off my pants, too?” He was grinning broader and broader.

Spencer, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more mortified. “ _ No _ ,” he squeaked. “No, no, no, listen, I didn’t -”

“You want some help with yours?”

“ _ Morgan, Jesus - _ ” The weaponsmith’s hand began trailing down his back, taunting, but Spencer snatched his wrist before he could reach his waistband and follow through with his suggestion. With his other hand, he clapped it over Morgan’s grinning mouth to shut him up. “ _ Would you keep your voice down!? _ ” he hissed hairsbreadths from the back of his hand, shooting a glance over the edge of the hammock to see if anyone had heard where their conversation had drifted. He felt like his entire body was flushed with a mortifying heat.

“Why?” came his voice, muffled under his hand.

“ _ Because there are other people within earshot and you’re talking about taking our clothes off! _ ”

“Don’t want an audience?”

“ _ No, _ I don’t want an  _ audience, _ what is wrong with you?” He took his hand off his mouth to glare at him, but didn’t dare raise his voice above the barely-whisper it was at right now. “Sound travels at three hundred and forty-three meters a second, and I don’t want this entire crew being alerted to what we’re doing in real time.”

“Whoa, now,  _ what  _ are we doing? I thought you were talking about  _ just sleeping _ , Reid, you made that pretty clear -”

“Oh, shut up, you know what I mean.” Spencer glanced over the hammock again. Their voices were quiet enough that no one was really close enough to have heard them, but he couldn’t help feeling extra self-conscious about the people in their surroundings.

“So you  _ don’t  _ want me to take more clothes off?”

“That was  _ your _ idea!”

“Yes or no, Pretty Boy, I’m getting some mixed signals here.  _ How _ do you want this night to go, again?”

Spencer pressed his lips together and glared at him for a moment while he stewed in his humiliation and his desperate attempt to calm down.  _ He’s lucky he’s so goddamn attractive.  _ “No,” he enunciated. “None… none of that. There are too many people around right now and I’m having doubts about just our  _ voices _ staying out of earshot, let alone…” He swallowed. “Other… sounds.”

“Okay.” Morgan nodded cheerfully. “Sleeping it is. Good to know.”

“Shut up. This is your fault.”

“I apologize.” Morgan closed his smiling mouth over top of Spencer’s. Spencer tried to frown and not kiss him back, but the feel of his lips had him closing his eyes and giving up that vain endeavor. He was just too good at it to refuse. He relaxed against the weaponsmith’s body and a small, weak sigh escaped him as Morgan kissed him, parting his lips with his own.

“Hey.” The weaponsmith drew back a fraction, and Spencer opened his mouth a little further to complain - but Morgan laid a finger over his lips, shutting him up with a smirk. “Other people around, remember that?”

“What?” he frowned. “I was quieter than  _ you _ were when you were talking about taking our pants off loud enough for the whole crew to hear.”

“I feel like sighs and other sounds of that nature are a bit more damning than mere banter -”

Spencer was already rolling his eyes. Before Morgan was finished speaking, he took his face in his hands and crushed his mouth on his, capturing the words before they could be spoken. Morgan smiled against him.

“Then,” Spencer said when they parted again, looking him dead in the eye, “If we’re going to kiss anymore tonight, we just better be real quiet about it. As few sounds as possible. Right?”

“Right.” 

“Good.” Satisfied, he looped one ankle around Morgan’s and resettled against his bare chest as their lips met again, slow and deliberate. He swallowed a sigh as Morgan’s mouth trailed from his own, across his cheekbone, almost to his hairline.

“Don’t you worry,” he murmured low at his ear, his warm breath brushing the fine hairs at his temple. “Sometime, you and I can find a place well out of earshot of anyone else, and you can moan as loud as you want.”

_ Ah. _

Spencer had gone hot and cold all over, his entire body very, very still as Morgan continued to hold him like he  _ hadn’t  _ just said…  _ that _ . He tried to swallow around the tension that had suddenly locked his neck, his shoulders, his back. 

_ Not a scrap of space between us, pressed together by the sides of the hammock. _

_ I really wish I hadn’t intertwined our legs so much…  _

“Well,” he mumbled into his chest, heat still rising to his face, trying not to move lest it draw attention to what Morgan’s words were doing to him. A decent response had abandoned him. “Great.”

Morgan’s single laugh hummed in his chest. “I win,” he rumbled.

Spencer narrowed his eyes at him.  _ Win? Oh, hell, no _ . “Win?” He murmured flatly.

“Win,” he repeated with a smirk. “Gotta admit, I didn’t think it’d take this long to get you to be at a loss for clever retorts. I didn’t expect you to take it this far. But you did, and I win anyway.”

Spencer stared at him for a while more, considering him.  _ Over my dead body. I’m not losing a game like this to you. No way.  _

At length, he rested his cheek against Morgan’s chest and made it seem as though he was yielding to his defeat. Morgan, satisfied, began playing with his hair again. Smiling to himself, savoring the sensation of his fingers along his scalp, Spencer cuddled a little closer and whispered, barely audible, “ _ I will crush you _ .”

“What?” 

Spencer grinned a little wider but didn’t elaborate.

Thankfully, Morgan didn’t say anything else to test that threat, and they settled into each other in the hammock. Simply being held, legs intertwined, arms around each other, a hand in his hair. 

And still uncomfortably hard, unfortunately, because his thoughts couldn’t seem to stop wandering back to the tone in Morgan’s low voice as he’d breathed those words next to his ear. That added a tinge of personal awkwardness to the situation, comforting and soothing as it was to finally be held like this.

Spencer did find a bit of consolation in that minor detail, though.

Despite Morgan’s big talk, they were still pressed very close together, and his own racy comment had affected  _ him _ in the exact same way it had Spencer. So if he had any idea in his head to call Spencer out on  _ his  _ body reacting, he sure wasn’t going to voice it.  _ He  _ wasn’t blameless, either.

_ I’m  _ definitely _ not losing this game to you _ , he thought to himself, satisfied, before they drifted to sleep in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, this chapter didn't even exist when I first got the idea for this fic, but then one day as I was writing I just said to myself, "You know what this needs right about now? Some more Disaster Bi content." And lo, here we have the result :) hope you enjoy!


	17. Iron and Powder

The favorable winds did not let up for the entirety of the  _ Redwing’ _ s journey north. It took them five days of nonstop sailing to reach Port Quantico.

The crew was quiet the closer they got.

JJ had taken it upon herself to check the cannons, the ammunition, and the grappling hooks twice, thrice, four times over the night before they were due to reach the small island just off the bay. She checked the state of the ropes - even re-wrapped the ones tied to the grappling hooks just to make sure there was no possible way they could knot or snag mid-battle.

Because they were going into battle that upcoming day. Twelve hours, perhaps. Just twelve hours before JJ would be able to give a piece of her mind to the woman who’d put both her and Penelope in so much peril.

Preferably, that piece of mind involved the muzzle of a pistol.

There was no one up on the deck besides JJ except for Kevin, who was taking a turn at the helm. At this time of night, the expanse of blue-black sky merged with the horizon and the blue-black waves, the occasional quiet whitecap mirroring the vast array of clusters of stars above her. The night was quiet.

The soft scuff of a boot against the deck drew JJ’s attention.

She tipped her head to the side, frowning. Her gaze swept over the deck. Kevin at the helm on the aftercastle, yes. Herself, on the deck towards the stern, yes.

Movement caught her eye in the dark on the other end of the ship.  _ Ah. _

_ One more on the deck. _

_ Spence _ .

She came around the masts, letting the heel of her boot thump on the planks to announce her presence without being too disruptive - after all, she noted as she approached her friend, he  _ was _ holding a pistol. A revolver, by the looks of it. She didn’t want to spook him.

“Hey,” she said softly, when the governor’s nephew finally looked up and noticed her approach.

“Oh. Hey,” he replied as he cracked a smile. He slipped the pistol into its holster by his side. “Can’t sleep?”

“Just checking the equipment,” she shrugged. She angled her chin at the gun - she didn’t think she’d ever seen him carry one before. “What were you doing with that?”

“Oh, this?” He looked down at it. “I was… just practicing aiming. And my stance. I wasn’t going to shoot it, or anything. I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

“No, that’s alright. I didn’t realize you knew how to use one, that’s all. Did someone back at the manor teach you?”

“Morgan did, actually,” he said. “Just recently. I wanted to learn how to fight… for tomorrow.”

_ Right _ .

“So…” JJ said, “You’re fighting tomorrow, too, huh?”

Spencer twitched his mouth to the side. “I mean… I want to, at least. I just… I’ve never been  _ in _ a real fight before. I just want to be able to hold my own. People keep saving me, and I appreciate it…”

“But you want to contribute.”

“Yeah, I do.”

JJ crossed her arms loosely. “And… you decided that midnight is the best time to practice your aim?”

“I couldn’t sleep so I wanted to try to be productive in some way.”

“I see.” JJ tipped her head in the direction of the hatch. “Look… I don’t think you’re going to get any more productive tonight, Spence,” she said softly with a sympathetic smile. “Try and get some sleep. You’ll need that more than a midnight sparring session alone on the deck.”

Spencer put his hands in his pockets with a melancholy frown, but both of them knew she was right. “What are  _ you  _ gonna do, then?” he asked.

“Sleep.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t sleep on nights like this.”

JJ sighed. “You still remember that, huh.”

“You’re my best friend, how could I forget?”

“My bad,” she huffed a laugh. But it was his words -  _ best friend  _ \- that made her heart swell in her chest.  _ I haven’t heard him say that for years. I’ve missed my best friend. _ “Sleepovers after every gala,” she said, remembering.

Spencer dipped his chin in a breathy laugh of his own. “Before them, too, whenever you could,” he said. “You always had to wake up early and sneak back down the road before your handmaid came and found you missing from your own room.”

“Ugh.” JJ winced good-naturedly. “That handmaid, she was a piece of work. I remember that. Those mornings were the worst, having to get up so early so she didn’t rat me out to my parents.”

“I always thought it was funny, you know, how you’d keep me awake all night with all your tossing and turning and not being able to fall asleep from the nerves of the event the next day - but then,  _ miraculously _ , you consistently refused to wake up when the morning actually came.”

“No, I didn’t keep you awake, did I?”

“You most certainly did. You were a terrible guest. I allowed you to climb in through my window in the middle of the night, and you spent the entire time  _ wiggling _ . I’m pretty sure I reached over and kicked you once or twice to get you to relax and go to sleep.”

“You  _ kicked me?  _ I don’t remember  _ this _ ,” she grinned. “I hope kicked you back.”

“Yeah, you did, and it  _ hurt _ . I didn’t do it again.”

JJ laughed out loud at that, and Spencer could barely control his own smile. “Come on,” she said, taking hold of his arm. “Get some sleep, or I’ll kick you again for old times’ sake.”

He sent her one last smirk. “Only since you asked so nicely,” he said. “Night, JJ.”

“Goodnight,” she replied. He disappeared belowdecks soon enough.

JJ remained on the deck, a quiet melancholy descending like a shadow over her.  _ I never realized how much I missed him, these past years. _

_ I’m really going to miss him when he goes back again. _

* * *

They sailed past the mouth of Port Quantico’s bay that following afternoon, flying the commodore’s colors from the mast. 

It was eerie. The entire crew was silent. Emily had taken over the helm, and ordered everyone out of sight - if anyone spotted the  _ Redwing _ from the fort on the crest, she didn’t want them to see anyone besides her on the deck. As far as her men knew, she’d sailed off alone all those weeks ago.

JJ was the last to vanish belowdecks, taking one extra second to let her glance linger on the commodore at the helm. Her black hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. A loose white shirt, its wide neck showing off her collarbones, was tucked into her tight, high-waisted pants. Her dark boots were of sturdy leather. 

She looked… good.

JJ ducked her head under the hatch, her heart doing a small somersault.

She watched her old town drift by from one of the port windows in the hull. Everything looked exactly as she remembered it. The ships in the quay, sails tied up tightly, forming a forest of masts and crossbars. The haphazard cluster of congested streets and plazas and shops and storefronts and houses. The fort with its crown of cannons. 

The fancy manors, far away up the slope of the island, gilding the slope like the occasional jewel here and there.

The governor’s manor was the largest and highest, it could even be seen from their distance.

JJ looked around to see if Spence was watching it go by further down. He was. He looked lost in thought. Conflicted, almost.

She didn’t bother him. 

When the coast was clear, Penelope led JJ, Spence, and Derek up to the helm. The tiny island they’d spotted on the map was within sight, now - somewhat conical-looking, from all the tall pines on its rocky clefts.

Emily nodded in its direction. “Seaver just reported that she saw a mast through the trees from the crow’s nest,” she said. Her voice was kept down, even though they were nowhere near within earshot of the island. “Cat’s there already.”

“Is she sure?” JJ said.

“She’s positive. She said she caught a glimpse of the edge of a crossbeam through the spyglass. The sails are up.”

“So we were right,” Derek said. “She’s waiting for nightfall.”

“And sailing against the wind delayed her just enough to catch her,” Spencer murmured.

Emily nodded. “We’re going to have to act fast when we come around the island. We’re gonna be right on top of her.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? That helps with the element of surprise?”

“It is, until she gets her own cannon crews into position. We’ll be firing point-blank at each other.”

“Yeah. Things are going to move fast once she spots us,” Penelope agreed. She was sporting her favorite wide-brimmed hat with the red feather - JJ hadn’t seen that hat in a while. There was no questioning the captain’s seriousness now that she wore it. To the group, Penelope asked, “Who here is boarding the  _ Queen _ ?”

Emily’s hand raised immediately, right alongside JJ’s. She caught the commodore’s eye and smiled. Derek, too, raised his hand. Spencer nodded in agreement, but he didn’t look quite as confident as the others.

Penelope nodded. “Matt and the rest of the gunners are staying on board to man the cannons. Of the people going, we’ve got Tara, Kate, Luke…” she named off the rest of the crewmates who would be boarding - and fighting. 

“Think that’ll be enough?” Emily asked. “I mean, we’ve got a great fighting force, but our crew is still pretty small.”

“Cat has at least a third more people,” Spencer said.

“It’ll be enough,” Penelope insisted. 

The conversation died there. The five of them looked between one another, not saying a word. They’d come so far already, all from different walks of life… and their adventure together was culminating today.

Emily finally broke the anticipatory silence at length. “Well,” she said quietly. “I guess there’s… only one thing to do, now.” She looked Penelope in the eyes. “Man the guns.”

“Man the guns,” Penelope agreed. To the group, she nodded. “Let’s go to work, friends.”

So they did.

Emily sailed the  _ Redwing _ as close to the island’s shore as she dared, then turned to begin circling around its shore. Hardly anyone spoke. JJ and the rest of the boarding party stood on the deck, watching the trees pass them by.

They were all fully armed. JJ leaned the butt of a loaded musket on the boards beside her foot, and she was turning a pistol in her other hand as she stood guard with one foot on the top step of the open hatch. She’d looped a sword to her belt, as well. Derek, beside her, also sported a musket. Penelope ran the pad of her thumb over the edge of her sword and checked and rechecked that she had both pistols on either side of her corset. Spence had found himself a rapier - he  _ did _ have more training with swordplay, after all - but JJ spotted Derek’s revolver holstered at his side, as well.

The trees and rocky clefts passed them by.

“Steady,” JJ murmured to the crewmates around her. The  _ friends _ around her. “Steady. We’re taking back our ship today. We’re taking it back.”

“You know we are.” Penelope took her hand and squeezed it tight with one final smirk. JJ returned it.

“There she is,” came a voice from the bow. A ripple went through the crew as the  _ Black Queen _ ’s bowsprit came into view around the island.

The ambush was underway.

“ _ Hold _ ,” Emily demanded from the helm to rein in the anticipation.

“Hold,” JJ repeated to the cannon crews belowdecks. She stretched out a hand to them, palm flat. “Hold to my signal.”

Bowsprit.

Rearing unicorn figurehead.

The first shout echoed across the water as someone on the  _ Queen _ realized that another ship had found their location. Derek hefted his musket against his shoulder and laid his finger over the trigger in preparation, his gaze fixed on the pirate ship, his jaw set.

“ _ Hold _ ,” Emily repeated.

They could see people rushing about on the  _ Black Queen _ ’s deck, now. They were close enough to see their faces. Emily was right - they  _ were _ right on top of them.

Firearms were raised on the adversary’s decks and battle cries began to hurl across the waters.

Another ripple went through the crowd, this time spurring them into action. Murmurs turned to snarls, which turned to taunts over the rails, which turned to battle cries of their own. The clacks of weapons being armed and raised skittered through the crowd as they sighted the pirates down the barrels of their guns.

“ _ Hold for my signal! _ ” Emily shouted over the rapidly-growing din. She unsheathed her saber and snarled at the pirates.

They were right on top of them now. Pirates brandished swords and guns at pirates as the  _ Queen _ hastily prepared for the assault. Seconds away. Closer. Just an inch closer, just one more - 

And then, Emily whipped around and screamed, “ _ OPEN FIRE! _ ”

“ _ FIRE! _ ” JJ screamed down to the gunners.

And the  _ Redwing _ lit up with shots.

A hail of gunshots split the air as smoke from their firearms rose. Less than a second later, the entire ship rocked with every last cannon on their starboard side lighting up as one. The boom was ear-splitting, the resulting white smoke blinding - and the crack of the  _ Queen _ ’s hull near-deafening. JJ ducked to avoid the splinters of wood that ricocheted past her face.

Unfortunately, Cat’s men had taken the moment to open fire, as well.

Bullets pinged off metal and cracked deep into wood. The crew at the rails ducked for cover from the onslaught. Some jerked and clutched at new wounds as they ripped into flesh. JJ took cover behind the main mast, whirling around to aim and fire off shots with her musket as often as she dared. Blonde hairs came free of her ponytail and wisped about her face as she loaded and reloaded. A few more of the  _ Redwing’ _ s cannons fired again.

And then another truly thunderous assault exploded from the guns.

But not from the  _ Redwing’ _ s.

JJ could  _ feel _ the wood of Emily’s ship shudder underneath her feet as the  _ Black Queen _ ’s cannons finally made a coordinated blow. She clenched her teeth against the cracking, the groaning of wood, the hollers rising up from the gunnery deck below.

“ _ RETURN FIRE! _ ” Emily screeched, shooting to her feet from her crouched position behind the aftercastle railing. She took aim with a musket and shot into the crowd of Cat’s men. One of them went down. Blood sprayed from his gunshot. 

The  _ Redwing _ fired again, but significantly fewer guns went off this time. The gun deck was in chaos.

JJ met Emily’s eyes through the stinging smoke, the ripping gunshots, the hollering and the screaming from both crews. Somehow, they caught each other’s gaze through it all. JJ jerked her head at the  _ Queen _ with a determined insistence. More strands came free of her ponytail.

Emily nodded once.

A bullet cracked into the mast right next to JJ’s face, and she ducked. Splinters streaked across her cheekbones like claws. She hissed, threw her musket down on the deck, and dove for a grappling hook coiled beside the mast, avoiding the stamp of her crewmates’ boots around them as they volleyed shots back and forth across the narrow strip of water between their ships.

“ _ PREPARE TO BOARD! _ ” Emily was hollering, and more hands dropped down to pick up a hook. “ _ CAST HOOKS! _ ”

The sharp tools of metal went sailing haphazardly through the air, ropes trailing behind them.

JJ led the charge across to the other ship. She was parrying away a pirate’s swinging blade before she even had two feet on the deck of the  _ Queen _ .  _ Been a while since I’ve been back on this ship, _ she smirked to herself.

And as the crew of the  _ Redwing _ descended onto Cat’s men, the deck of her beloved ship erupted into complete and utter anarchy.

Blades swinging. Shouting. The shouting was a roar, a constant deafening drone all around her. Boots on the boards. Blood, too. White sleeves stained with it, splatters of it on the deck. Blades again. Gunshots. One or two at close range. Blood again.

JJ parried, disarmed, disabled. A vicious kick sent a charging pirate crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut. Luke bumped into her back at one point, and the two of them battled their respective adversaries like that.

JJ’s sword was slicked with red.

But even as she fought, even as blades swung past her and took slices out of her, she kept an eye on the people around her. Luke. There was Derek’s head. Emily - she could never mistake her dark ponytail, her fierce glare. Penelope was nearby, as well, fighting just as desperately.

_ But where’s - _

“JJ!” Spencer suddenly grabbed her arm out of nowhere. Over the din, he called, “ _ I know where Cat is _ .”

JJ blinked, her breath labored. One more sweep over the fighting - and Cat was indeed nowhere to be found. In her desperation to keep tabs on her friends, she’d completely overlooked the fact that their real adversary had yet to appear.

She looked back to Spence. “Where is she?” she demanded.

“Captain’s quarters,” he called, pointing to the aftercastle and the doors shut tight. “She’s  _ got  _ to be.”

JJ wasted no time. She ducked a stray blade, gave a quick thrust in retaliation, then reached for Penelope’s sleeve through the crowd. “We’re getting Cat,” she hollered, jerking her head at the aftercastle. 

Penelope didn’t need to be told twice. She immediately broke from the melee and followed JJ and Spencer as they made a dash across the deck, parrying as they went.

“Wait for me, Babygirl!” Derek was suddenly beside them. He drove the pommel of his sword against the skull of a lunging pirate as he did so.

“Where’s Emily?” JJ asked, scanning the battle again.

“She’s got it under control,” Derek said. “She’s the military commander here. Now come on!”

JJ spotted the commodore’s ponytail once more, and her conscience was eased somewhat. Emily was in her element, in the heat of battle.

She finally whipped around to follow the rest of them up the companionway to the aftercastle.

Penelope and Derek took down the pirates there, and Spence even disarmed one of them first, which JJ had to admit made her rather proud. The doors to the captain’s quarters were shut tight.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Penelope said. She grabbed one of the door handles - and Spence grabbed the other.

He matched her determined gaze with his own. “So have I,” he said with a nod. Penelope cracked a grin.

And they yanked open the doors.

And sitting upon the chair at the desk, one knee crossed casually over the other, her elbows on either armrest, no weapons in sight… Captain Cat Adams was waiting for them.


	18. Two to Tango

For a brief moment, Penelope and Cat looked at each other. The sounds of battle behind them faded to a dull roar.

“Well,” Cat finally said at length, “Look at that. Penelope Garcia really  _ did _ escape the governor’s jail after all.”

“The jail  _ you _ put me in,” Penelope said very quietly.

A smirk crawled up the pirate’s face as she tipped her head and ignored that comment. Her dark eyes instead slid to Spencer, and her smirk only grew. “ _ Spencie _ ,” she crowed languidly. 

Spencer’s jaw clenched a little tighter, but he made no other reaction.

“Missed me, did you?” she went on, leaning her chin in her palm. “I know I missed  _ you _ . I see you’ve cleaned yourself up rather nicely. Quite the improvement from your previous state when you were here before.”

“Go to hell.”

“Hm, not very friendly. You really should do something about that attitude, it doesn’t match your pretty face.”

“This isn’t about me,” Spencer said. His voice was low and even. “You stole Penelope’s ship out from under her, and we’re taking it back.”

“Is that what that commotion is out there on the deck?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows and trying to peer around him from her seated position. He shifted his weight to block her view, and a scowl snapped down over her features. “So,” she clipped, “If this really isn’t about you, then why the hell are you even here helping her, huh? Why are  _ any  _ of you people here?” 

Her glare swept over the four of them but snagged on JJ. She smiled once more - serpentine. “Oh, hello, Blondie.”

“It’s First Mate Jareau,” she growled.

“Not if you don’t have a ship, it’s not,” Cat snapped right back.

“I  _ do _ have a ship.  _ This _ one. That  _ you _ stole.”

“Oh, that’s right. How rude of me. My mistake.”

“So you don’t mind just handing it over?” Penelope asked, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms.

“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice, do I?” Cat sighed, leaning back further in her seat. “After all, you bunch are the ones with the weapons, and I am not. Looks like you got me, Penelope.”

Penelope shared a glance with the rest of them. A pistol was resting on the bookshelf on the opposite wall. A rapier, against the bedframe. And there were no doubt other weapons in the room. She could have been putting up far more of a fight. She  _ should _ have been putting up more of a fight. She was outnumbered, yes, but simply giving up and turning herself in… it didn’t make sense. This wasn’t like her.

“What are you waiting for, Penelope?” Cat frowned.

“What are you playing at?” she asked her.

“Playing?” the pirate scoffed. “Men are dying out on that deck there. You think I’m gonna go hurling myself into a fight and risk bodily harm? Hell no. I’m going to be smart about this and keep myself healthy and uninjured, thanks. Self-preservation, and all that.” She sighed. “The way I see it, as much as it sucks, going quietly is the only option that involves the least amount of harm to myself.”

“This is a trick,” Spencer immediately snapped.

“What could I possibly gain from tricking you into tying me up and turning me in to the authorities?” she retorted. “Geez. Get kidnapped once, and now you’re a paranoid mess.”

“Don’t talk to me about paranoia.”

“Oh, right. Your darling mother, isn’t that right? Forgive my insensitivity.”

Penelope watched Spencer cross his arms. “I was kidnapped, and that changed me, yes,” he told her, “But I’m not paranoid. I’m just more informed than I was the first time you took me onto this ship. Informed about  _ you _ , how you operate. And you would never turn yourself in without a fight unless you knew you were getting something out of this.”

“Yeah, I’m getting my  _ life _ .”

“That’s not good enough for you.”

“And you won’t even have that life for very long once the military gets their hands on you,” Emily piped up as she pushed through the door, bloodied and breathing heavily but otherwise unharmed. She’d followed them to the captain’s quarters. She glanced to the rest of the group, already in the room. “Kate’s got the situation on the deck under control.”

Cat’s eyebrows raised. “Huh. Fancy seeing you here, Commodore. Allying yourself with pirates, are you, now?”

“I’m here to take a greater threat off the seas.”

That caught Cat’s interest. It was subtle, but her expression flickered and changed for a split second. A greater threat.  _ A greater threat than her new allies. Than Penelope. _

_ She has surpassed me. She heard it from the Commodore herself. _

“And,” Emily went on, glancing back out the doors, “Seeing as we have wrested control of this ship, the only place you’ll be going, Cat Adams, is the gallows.”

“Didn’t prove to be too big of a setback for Garcia, here,” Cat smirked.

“Believe me,” Emily growled. “I will not make the same mistake again with you.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Derek snarled. “We’re wasting our time. Let’s just tie her up already.”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Spencer exclaimed, grabbing the weaponsmith’s sleeve. “It’s too easy. This is a  _ trap _ .”

“Of course it’s a trap,” Penelope said. “We might as well incapacitate her either way. JJ, find a rope.”

“With pleasure,” she growled, shooting Cat a glare. 

“This is what she  _ wants _ ,” Spencer tried to insist, but Penelope just held out her hand to cut him off.

“Listen,” she said, as gently as she could, “Of course this is what she wants. As soon as you come up with a better idea of getting Cat safely to Port Quantico, Boy Wonder, let me know. But for right now, we’re tying her up before she can change her mind and grab a weapon.”

Derek grabbed Cat roughly from the shoulder and yanked her out of her seat, wrenching her arms behind her back while Spencer and Penelope watched mutely. JJ and Emily left to search the deck for a rope to bind her more securely. 

Cat winced at the treatment. “Cut off my circulation, will you?” she muttered.

Derek, in retaliation, shoved her forward out the door while still holding her arms behind her back. “Let’s go,” he snarled.

Penelope seemed to loose a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding as Derek marched Cat out onto the companionway. Cat was sly, but Derek was too strong for her to overpower on her own like that. And once JJ returned with the rope, she’d be even more at their mercy. She wasn’t getting free.

They’d gotten her.

They got Cat.

It was over. A weight felt like it had been lifted off of Penelope’s shoulders.

“I don’t know how she thinks she could possibly get out of this one,” she murmured to Spencer.

But Spencer didn’t look at ease. “Yeah,” he muttered back, “Neither do I. That’s what worries me.”

He brushed past Penelope to stand beside Derek on the companionway, leaving her standing in the captain’s quarters. Doubt began to worm its way into her long-awaited relief at hearing those words.

_ This is ridiculous. He’s right, but it’s ridiculous. She can’t get free, there’s no way. _

_ Still… _

_ No. _

Penelope shook her head, adjusted her hat on her head, and made her way to Derek’s other side so she could lean on the banister and address the pirates on the deck.

Many were on the bloodied planks, moaning or motionless. The crew of the  _ Redwing _ had much of the  _ Queen’ _ s crew incapacitated - disarmed, backed against the rails or the masts, held at gunpoint or swordpoint. Tara had the heel of her boot planted firmly between the shoulderblades of her opponent. Luke had a man trapped solidly in a headlock. Emily was stalking between the wounded men on the planks, her pistol out and flicking between them, should they even think about trying anything.

The  _ Black Queen _ was captured.

Cat, as she surveyed the scene, only seemed to grow increasingly furious. Her glare was murderous and her jaw was locked, strands of her short hair swinging by it as Derek jostled her. 

Spencer kept a firm eye on her. He nodded to Penelope once before returning his gaze back.

Penelope leaned both hands on the rail and addressed the people on the deck with a dazzling grin. “Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” she beamed. “Didn’t think you’d see me back on this ship again, did you? Not after the new management  _ thought  _ she saw to it that you wouldn’t.”

She took this time to send Cat a smile. Cat didn’t smile back. Her calm, languid facade had dissolved upon seeing her fighting force disarmed.

“Well,” she said, turning back to the crew, “Here I am, and I will be here to stay, once again your captain and the captain of the  _ Black Queen _ . Anyone who wishes to stay on board with me may do so. Anyone who doesn’t can make themselves known now, and my dear friend Emily will come around and tie you up as well so you can make the journey straight to Port Quantico’s dungeons alongside dear Cat.”

“Over my dead body!” screamed a female voice - a woman, slight, brown hair, held against her captor’s chest with a sword under her chin.  _ Lindsey Vaughan,  _ Penelope recalled - Cat’s lady-friend. 

“Got one already,” Penelope said. “Anyone else?”

What happened next felt like it was moving in slow-motion.

Penelope’s gaze swept over the crew, landing finally on the pirates beside her. Cat was glaring straight ahead, her arms held behind her by Derek, Spencer eyeing her down. Penelope watched as, the moment her gaze happened to reach him, Spencer’s eyes went wide with horror as something in Cat’s hand caught his attention. He lunged and shouted, “ _ DEREK- ! _ ”

_ BANG. _

Flash of light. Derek fell, hollering, letting Cat go. Spencer screaming, dropping to his side. Clatter of the tiny, palm-sized pistol onto the deck.

Cat grabbing the sword out of the sheath by Derek’s side before he hit the deck and surging for Penelope with murder in her eyes.

Penelope barely had time to register what had just happened in the span of a few seconds before she could raise her own weapon and desperately parry away the attack that was coming right for her heart.

“You should have searched me,” Cat crowed with a wicked grin before wasting no time and coming at her again.

And so, Penelope was sucked into a desperate duel on the companionway with her fiercest adversary on the seas.

Derek was on the ground where he had fallen, clutching the stain of red that was rapidly growing at his side, and Spencer was right beside him, panicking. His hand was pressed on top of Derek’s, over the wound.

“I didn’t even see it in her sleeve,” the weaponsmith hissed through clenched teeth. “Son of a bitch…”

“Keep your eyes open, Morgan, don’t even think about closing them,” Spencer said, his free hand running over his shirt, up to his face, as he searched their immediate area for something, anything, to stop the bleeding. Blood was trailing through both of their fingers. This wasn’t like Spencer’s bullet to the leg. This gunshot, no matter its tiny caliber, had been fired at point-blank when Cat had slipped the concealed pistol out of her sleeve, and it was bleeding much more severely.

“Where’s Cat?” Derek moaned against the pain rippling through his core. He could barely move from the agony.

“Fighting Penelope,” Spencer said, still frantically searching. His gaze alighted on the sleeve of his own white shirt, and before he even realized he was moving, he pulled back a fraction and shucked his shirt off over his head.

Derek’s pain-clouded eyes widened in surprise as Spencer balled up the fabric. “Put this on it,” he demanded, bare chest heaving from the panic. Derek removed his bloodstained palm from his wound just enough to fit the shirt underneath it. Spencer swallowed the urge to throw up when, in that split second between, a fresh surge of Derek’s blood pulsed from the wound.

Derek gripped the fabric against him, and was distantly aware of Spencer’s hands covering his own again, slick with smears of blood. His blood. The shirt was turning red far too quickly.

He needed real medical attention. Badly. That bullet had torn through something important, and he was going to bleed out.

_ Keep your eyes open _ .

Through the agonizing haze, Spencer’s words kept him grounded as he fought the rolling swells of consciousness. Talking. Panicking, but talking, talking to him,  _ keep talking to me…  _

While Penelope and Cat exchanged rapid swings, parries, thrusts at each other, Cat’s incapacitated men on the deck had gained a new rush of inspiration to fight. Those that were uninjured enough to put up a fight did so, kicking captors’ feet out from under them, straining against their restraints. Gunshots peppered the deck as the  _ Redwing _ ’s crew retaliated and the  _ Queen _ ’s men retrieved their weapons. 

Emily punched a rising pirate square in the nose, and then immediately had to duck another man’s fist. She drove her knee into his gut. He grunted. And swung at her again.

This time, she wasn’t quick enough to dodge it. His fist connected with her face in a spray of sharp sparks through her vision. Her head snapped around from the impact and sent her careening against the mast. Blood filled her mouth, and she spat it out. She’d bitten the inside of her cheek. She dug her nails into the wood and blinked through the stars to see him coming for her again, this time with a dagger -

And out of nowhere, JJ sent a roundhouse kick straight for his ribs, and he collapsed heavily onto the deck with a wheeze.

Emily just stared, breathing through her mouth, which was still dripping from the blood. JJ took her hand and helped her off the mast.

“You okay?” the first mate asked, her blue eyes boring into Emily’s. She brushed her thumb across her chin, just under her lip, wiping away the trail of blood.

Emily couldn’t find the words all of a sudden.

_ Oh… wow. _

She finally blinked. “Yeah,” she said with a nod. “Yeah, I’m… fine.”

JJ’s gaze lingered on hers for a moment longer before her lips curved into a brief smile. “Good,” she said. “Let’s get these guys under control.”

“Again,” Emily said, cracking a smile of her own.

“Again,” JJ agreed.

“You know -” Emily snagged her attention once more. Once more, the sudden beauty of the first mate hit her as squarely as that pirate’s punch. Despite the melee around them… she managed to smile. “We make a good team, you and me.”

JJ only beamed in agreement.

The two of them launched back into the fray, side by side. As Emily recovered her sword, and even as she fought… the image of JJ roundhouse kicking that pirate wouldn’t stop playing in her mind. The sea-blue of her eyes.

_ She’s… _

_ Beautiful.  _

Back on the companionway, Spencer’s shirt was almost soaked all the way through. He didn’t even have the capacity to feel even a little self-conscious, despite the fact that he’d had to sacrifice that shirt, and, under normal circumstances, he would have felt uncomfortable about it. He had more things to deal with than being seen without it on. 

He pressed even harder on top of Derek’s hand, making him bark from the pain. “ _ Press harder _ ,” he insisted.

“Trying,” Derek gasped. “You’re gonna… break my hand.”

“You’re gonna bleed out,” he retorted just as fast. Yes, he could feel the fine bones of Derek’s hand underneath his own, and hurting him was just another fear whirling through his mind, but they needed to get his bleeding under control. Now. That bullet could have easily torn through an organ or two.

_ He needs help he needs help he needs help he needs help… _

_ How the roles have reversed on us, now…  _

A shout from where Penelope and Cat were fighting on the deck, jackets swinging, blades flying and singing and clashing, hair whipping about as they fought and fought. The sight of the short-haired captain sent a sudden burst of anger - no, of  _ fury _ \- surging through Spencer’s body.

_ She made Morgan worry about me, made everyone come searching for me, she ruined Penelope’s life and so many others… _

_ She shot Morgan… _

_ She shot him…  _

Penelope took a vicious blow. Losing the fight. Losing. And when Cat beat her,  _ killed  _ her, she’d come back to finish what she started with Morgan and him. 

Spencer knew immediately what he had to do. 

“Hold this,” he demanded of Derek, guiding his other hand on top. “ _ Tightly _ . Do  _ not _ let go, do  _ not _ let up the pressure.”

“What?” he said. “Reid -”

Penelope’s heel hit the base of the banister at the edge of the ship as Cat forced her back from she sheer speed of her attacks. In that split second, Cat lunged. Penelope tried to block.

But the pirate hadn’t been aiming for her. Metal sang as Cat’s blade went clean through the wrought crossbars of Penelope’s rapier and twisted. She felt the grip slide through her clutching fingers as Cat wrenched her weapon out of her hands.

And suddenly, Penelope was unarmed and Cat held two blades, crossed in an X before her throat, forcing her back fully against the banister.

Neither of them moved.

Their chests were heaving as they stood there. Dread was pounding through Penelope’s veins. If she moved, Cat would kill her. If she didn’t, she still would. Emily and JJ were too busy on the deck. Derek was still on the ground…  _ alone? _

Cat’s labored breathing curved into a dangerous grin. “Hi, Penelope,” she crooned.

Penelope swallowed. 

Cat too another step closer, forcing the sharp, crossed blades closer to her neck, still grinning. “You know, I kind of wished you and I could have had it out like this the first time I threw you to those navy wolves,” she said. “Tipping off the commodore just didn’t have this kind of personal satisfaction.”

“But you  _ are _ intending on throwing me to them again, then?” Penelope asked.

“Believe me.” Cat tipped her head to the side and lowered her voice, forcing her to lean in even closer, “I would love nothing more than to see you tried for every crime under the sun. I would love nothing more than to be out pillaging on the seas without a care, and then hear in passing that Penelope Garcia’s execution had been completed - all thanks to me.” Her smile darkened, took on more qualities of a sneer. “But it’s going to be  _ so _ much more satisfying just to kill you myself, the way I should have done before all of this even happened.”

_ No, NO -! _

_ BANG. _

Gunshot.

Scream torn from a throat.

A gasp lurched out of Penelope as suddenly, Cat wasn’t there rearing back to slit her throat. 

Cat had collapsed, roaring.

_ Cat _ had been shot.

Blood. Shot in the leg. Bullet through her knee.

By…

Penelope’s head snapped up to the helm, to the steps beside it. To the person standing there.

To  _ Spencer _ .

Shirt discarded, feet planted in their boots, trembling arms still straight out before him, holding the revolver, a wisp of smoke still trailing from the barrel. Eyes wide but determined.

_ Spencer shot her. _

Metal ground against wood as Cat tried to drag herself to her feet despite her debilitating wound. Penelope snapped out of it and kicked the sword out of her hand before she could raise it - the other, Penelope’s, she’d already dropped. She wasted no time forcing Cat onto her back and pinning her arms.

Spencer was suddenly there by her side. “Found this,” he said to Penelope, holding up a length of spare rope.

“Thanks,” she replied. The hand that took it was trembling, she noticed. Her whole body was, really. She couldn’t recall a time when she had come so close to death. All she could do was offer Spencer a breathy half-smile as she went to work on Cat’s hands. “Thank you,” she repeated. “That was a great shot.”

He flicked his eyes down at the revolver he had set down beside him. A half smile of his own ghosted across his features. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“You call  _ that  _ great?” Cat sneered as Penelope yanked her binds tighter. “You didn’t even shoot to kill. Knee shots are  _ weak _ .”

“I was aiming for your back,” Spencer snapped matter-of-factly. 

Cat barked a laugh. Penelope finished with her binds and hauled her back up to a sitting position, leaning against the rails. Her bloodied leg was stretched out before her, staining the boards. “My  _ back _ ?” she jeered. “You’re an even worse shot than I thought!”

“It still did what it needed to.”

“You -  _ hey! Mother _ rutting _ - _ ”

Spencer had cut her off by snatching up a strip of a rag and looping it around her knee, wrapping it perhaps a little tighter than it needed to be to stop the bleeding. He shot her a glare. “The bullet went clean through, but you’re still going to bleed out without this. Hold still already.”

Cat stared at him, utterly dumbfounded and still spitting mad. She gave her binds a tug - but Penelope had done a good job. “The  _ hell _ do you care?” she spat. “Why don’t you just leave me to die, huh? After all I did to you?”

When he didn’t answer, and instead tied the bandage tighter without meeting her gaze, she barked a laugh in spite of herself. “Don’t want to kill me?” she jeered. “Don’t want to take a human life, Spencie? Come on.” She leaned in closer. He still didn’t deign to look up from his work. “You said being kidnapped changed you. Prove it. Kill me.  _ Forget _ the bandage, just pick up that revolver again and take it all out on me.”

Spencer yanked the final knot tight and dropped both his palms to the deck, finally meeting Cat Adams’ glare. “Believe me,” he said, his voice low and threatening, “I would love  _ nothing _ more than to end your life right here myself.” 

Her eyes widened a fraction as she recognized her own words. Spencer smiled at her with no mirth. “But it’s going to be  _ so _ much more satisfying to hand you over to my uncle alive, and let him deal with you as he sees fit for your crimes,” he said.

“Yeah?” she growled. “But how’s he gonna react to  _ you _ , Spencer? You’re no political figurehead anymore, satisfied to just stand around at fancy parties and look pretty. Look at yourself. Taking part in a raid, taking part in a  _ fight _ . Getting a taste for bloodshed.” She smirked with a huff of a laugh. “ _ Pirate _ ,” she hissed.

Spencer just narrowed his eyes at her. “I think we’re done here,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

“You know what I think, Spencie?” 

“What.” He paused one last time before rising.

Her dark grin only grew wider. “I think you really liked shooting me,” she whispered. “And once you cross that line, you can’t ever go back.”

But Spencer’s expression didn’t change. He just looked her dead in the eye and spoke two words to her.

“Watch me.”

Penelope stared, speechless, as Spencer finally pushed himself to his feet and turned on his heel to stride away. He’d left his revolver sitting there on the boards, out of her reach but right where she could see it clearly. Cat herself also didn’t chime in with a snappish retort aimed at his back. For once, she didn’t seem to have any.

Penelope turned her back on the pirate.

The situation on the main deck had been subdued again, greatly in thanks to Emily and JJ, who had fought side by side through the whole skirmish. They hurried up the companionway to Derek’s side.

Spencer, after his final word to Cat, had immediately returned to the wounded weaponsmith. His white shirt, wadded up over the wound, was almost completely red. Penelope knelt to her knees, her heart rate leaping. She had been two busy dueling Cat to see how badly Derek had been shot, and now that she could… he looked far, far too pale.

“Hey, hey, stay awake,” Spencer warned him, laying a hand on his face while helping apply more pressure with the other. 

“Did you… shoot her?” Derek’s words were mumbled, almost slurred from the blood loss, and his dark eyes were barely more than slits.

Spencer swallowed, but nodded. “Just like you said,” he whispered. “One hand supports it… don’t think too hard…”

Derek exhaled. “Good.”

“How is he?” Emily asked. She was rapidly developing a nasty-looking black eye.

Spencer looked up, but the answer was already plain on his face before he even said a word. “He needs a surgeon,” he told her. “He needs to get back to Port Quantico.”

“Let’s get him onto the  _ Redwing _ , she’s the only ship that can sail into the bay without getting impounded,” JJ said, dropping to Derek’s side. “Em, help me out.”

Emily didn’t respond.

“Emily?” JJ frowned up at her, only to find her staring off over the side of the ship. “What is it?”

“We’ve got company,” was all she said in response.

Dread washed over the group as all of them shared identical, horrified glances. Derek was bleeding on the ground, slowly losing his grip on consciousness. They were all weary from the height of battle. Penelope barely felt like she could catch her breath as her heart pounded and pounded.  _ We can’t fight anyone like this… _

“Who?” JJ asked.

Emily looked down at them. “My lieutenants.”

Penelope blinked. “The navy?”

“Someone must have heard the cannonfire from town,” the commodore said. “We’ve got the  _ Profiler _ bearing down on us. I’ll bet anything it’s Hotch and Rossi.”

“What do we do?” Penelope asked.

Despite the threatening news, Emily didn’t look terribly concerned. She even sent her and JJ a small smile. “I can handle this,” she said. “This can work to our advantage. But JJ, Penelope, you should round up our crewmates and get them belowdecks before the  _ Profiler  _ gets any closer, we don’t want them to see you.”

“What about Cat’s men?” Spencer asked. “And Cat, for that matter?”

“Oh, them? They can stay out in the open,” she smirked. “ _ They’re _ the pirates we want to have arrested, after all.”

“And Derek?”

“The  _ Profiler _ ’ll make better time back to port than the  _ Redwing _ will, in its current condition. We’ll make it in time. Now hurry,” she said, placing a hand on JJ’s shoulder to ease her up. “Get belowdecks. All of you. I’ll probably have to have the  _ Redwing _ follow them back into the bay once Cat’s men are in the brig and Derek’s stabilized. As soon as we’re out of sight, get out of here as fast as you can before they send out a ship to drag yours in. Make for Keg Town.”

“Wait, wait, hold up,” JJ frowned, “Emily, is… this the last time we’re going to see you?” She looked to the men on the ground, watching them. “Derek… Spence?”

“If all goes well…” Emily claimed the first mate’s attention once more with a small smile. “It shouldn’t be.”

JJ looked at her for a moment longer, then nodded to herself, still not looking entirely convinced.

“Go,” Emily urged her gently, casting one last look at the approaching naval ship. “We’ll meet again.”

“I’ll take your word.” And then, quick as it happened, JJ closed her eyes and pressed a brief kiss to Emily’s cheek.

Her heart shuddered to a stop. Then resumed its beating, pace doubled. 

Penelope and JJ wasted no more time. The latter gave Spencer a quick, firm hug before following her captain down the companionway. Emily watched them go until they were all safe belowdecks of the  _ Black Queen _ , still a little bewildered. 

_ She just…  _

There was just enough deep water between the island and the  _ Queen _ to allow the  _ Profiler _ to approach from that side. Emily forced thoughts of that little kiss out of her mind and signaled to them from the deck to alert them to her location. Gangplanks were lowered once the larger naval ship reached their side.

Emily met them as Lieutenants Hotchner and Rossi boarded the  _ Queen  _ and took in the chaos on the deck. 

“You made it just in time,” she told them. “The situation is under control, but we have some casualties that need to be seen to.”

“What happened here?” Hotch asked.

“Ambush,” Emily said plainly, and with as much of her old authority as she could. It felt… odd, suddenly, speaking to her men as the commodore again, after so long without behaving in accordance to the title. “The  _ Black Queen _ came up from nowhere and started to attack. We managed to board them this time, and capture their captain.”

She nodded at Cat, who was still seething at her bonds on the deck.

“Oh, and we found Spencer Reid in her brig,” she added. “He’s on the companionway there, tending to our most severe casualty.”

“Reid?” Hotch frowned, immediately following Emily’s gesture.

Spencer popped his head up from behind the banister, and his face immediately broke into a smile. “Hotch!” he exclaimed.

“Are you alright?”

“Me? Oh, yes, I’m fine, but Morgan’s not.”

“Morgan?”

“He joined me when I sailed from Port Quantico this past time,” Emily quickly clarified. “He was shot in battle and requires a surgeon as soon as possible.”

“Captain Cat Adams,” Rossi mused. “ _ And _ Reid. And you did this all with a crew of just two?”

“Yes,” Hotchner said slowly, taking in the scope of the battle on the deck once more. “How…  _ did  _ you manage to capture the  _ Queen _ so effectively?”

Emily’s stomach turned to lead, but she swallowed it. “There were more than two in my crew,” she said. “I took a handful of others with me before I set sail. They’re all belowdecks back on the  _ Redwing _ over there, patching each other up.”

“Do any of them require medical assistance?” Rossi asked. “We have an apothecary on the  _ Profiler _ -”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” she insisted, perhaps a little too quickly. Hoping neither of her lieutenants decided to sweep her ship - and find it void of any crew. “Morgan’s injury is most critical. He should go back with you. As should Cat and her men.”

“Is this all of them? Have you swept the  _ Queen _ for more?”

“Yes, yes, there’s no one belowdecks, this is everyone.” Her heart was beating far too erratically. She hoped they couldn’t tell. “We can send someone to retrieve the  _ Queen _ later once we vacate, but Morgan really needs to see a surgeon quickly and I’m sure Governor Gideon will want to know that his nephew is safe as soon as possible. I can explain everything at a later time.”

Hotchner and Rossi shared a glance, and for a second Emily thought they might question her further, but Rossi simply nodded stiffly. “Of course, ma’am,” he said. Hotch nodded as well, and turned to the soldiers behind them, directing them to capture Cat’s wounded men and take them to the brig.

Emily let herself exhale as the soldiers began hauling in the pirates. She had taken up a spot guarding the  _ Black Queen _ ’s hatch to make sure no nosy soldiers decided to poke around and discover the  _ other  _ crewful of pirates hiding beneath their feet. Cat put up a particular fight when they went for her, hissing and spitting, but she disappeared onto the  _ Profiler _ just like all the others. 

Gone.

Rossi patted her shoulder just as the last of them were being shoved up the gangplank. “Good job today,” he smiled. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you,” she replied, but the words felt hollow.  _ Good to have me back…  _

He tapped a finger in the air in the direction of Emily’s rapidly-darkening eye. “You might want to get that looked at when we get back, too,” he said. 

She nodded and placed a hand absently on her tender cheekbone, wincing at the pain. “I guess I should,” she mused. 

“You following us back on the  _ Redwing _ _?_”

“Of course.”

“Alright. See you there.” Rossi left her for the  _ Profiler _ with one last smile, but the one Emily returned didn’t feel quite as genuine.

She looked up to the companionway, where Spencer was busy helping transition Derek’s care into the hands of the soldiers and the  _ Profiler’s  _ apothecary. He caught her eye, and they both shared the same expression without even having to say anything.

_ We’re back. _

_ We took down Cat. It’s over. It’s done. _

_ We can’t put off crossing all those bridges anymore.  _

_ We’re back, now. _


	19. Where One Belongs

“Understood, sir.”

“No, no you  _ don’t _ , listen, you need a disinfectant before you stick any of your tools into him -”

“We are fully aware of that, sir, we have plenty in the room -”

“The bullet, it’s still in there, you need to have disinfected tweezers on hand the moment you get him in, too, and the sharpest surgical blade you have -”

“Sir -”

“The lead is going to  _ poison his bloodstream _ if it doesn’t come out -”

“Sir, please, the doctors have it under control -”

“What just happened? What was that? Is he still conscious?  _ Morgan  _ -!”

“He’s only passed out. Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave -”

“No! You need to get the bullet out -!”

“We have it under control, sir, please -”

“_Let_ _go of me_ -!”

“ _ Sir. _ ”

The door rattled shut with a bang. 

Spencer grabbed for the handle and pounded one fist against the door, but the lock had already clicked into place. 

_ Locked out. _

_ Morgan… _

He hadn’t left his side. Even when the  _ Profiler _ ’s men transferred him onto the enormous naval ship, Spencer stayed with him, reassuring him, keeping him awake while they properly bound his wound to stabilize him enough to get him to the infirmary in town. He even found himself holding the weaponsmith’s hand, letting him squeeze it through the rolling waves of pain.

One of the soldiers’ gazes lingered a little too long on their joined hands at one point. Spencer’s heart had jumped into his throat and he forced himself to let go.

_ We’re not in pirate society anymore _ .

_ We’re back to reality, now. _

Nevertheless, he’d stayed with Morgan as they took him off the ship and carried him on a stretcher down the docks. Spencer had barely cared enough to take in the familiar sights of his hometown as he kept with them, offering medical advice for when they finally took Morgan into surgery.

And now, they had.

And Spencer was stuck on the other side of the door.

His hand was pressed on the door, his other limp on the handle. Muffled voices came from within, but he couldn’t make any of them out. He stared blankly ahead as though he could see through the wood panels if he looked at them long enough. 

But he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

His racing heart was beginning to slow down. Wasted adrenaline pooled like lead deep in his gut, heavy and cold, as he just stared and stared.

_ There’s nothing more I can do for him. He’s in their hands now. _

_ They know what to do. They know… _

He spent the rest of the time in a daze. He couldn’t sit down, that felt too… stagnant. He needed to move. Needed to do something to dispel the deep-trenched anxiety inside him.

A doctor came out of the room after a bit, and Spencer snapped his head up for any news. It wasn’t much. They’d gotten the bullet out and were starting to stitch him up, but there was interior damage that needed delicate attention, so the procedure could take a while longer.

“If you’d like, sir, you may leave your name and address, and we may contact you once he is out of surgery,” the doctor said.

Spencer almost picked up the pen he was offered, but he stopped himself, swallowing the urge. He wasn’t Morgan’s next of kin. He wasn’t Morgan’s anything - not to Port Quantico standards, at least. He had no reason to invest himself that thoroughly in looking after him. He’d already made a significant scene when they were forced to lock him out. People might talk. People might suspect…

So, hands shoved into his pockets, he mustered every scrap of self-control in his body and walked out of the infirmary without writing a word.

_ Where to…  _

He felt like he was wandering aimlessly. Shops and streets passed him by like he was in a daze. Before he knew it, his calves were aching from walking up an incline. He looked up to see that the town had fallen away, replaced with hanging trees and screeching summer insects.

And the governor’s manor with its wrought-iron gate.

He stood there, looking at his home for a long time.

_ I’m… back. _

_ Back to the way things were. _

_ Like nothing… nothing even happened. _

_ Except that it did. _

The creak of wrought iron snapped him out of it. A carriage, drawn by a single horse, exited onto the road in a quick clop of hooves. Spencer immediately stepped to the side to let it pass.

Only it didn’t pass. As quickly as the driver pulled out of the manor’s yard, he halted the reins in surprise upon seeing Spencer on the side of the road. The horse tossed its head in annoyance. Spencer blinked.

“Mr. Reid,” the driver said, surprised.

“Yes?” he replied.

And then the carriage door opened, and the governor of Port Quantico stepped out, one hand braced on the handle.

_ Uncle. _

Governor Gideon stared at him for a moment, his expression raw with weeks of worry. Spencer shoved his hands a little deeper into his pockets and swallowed.

“Spencer,” the governor said, his voice breaking and soft.

And then Spencer had crossed the distance between them and had his arms around his uncle, embracing him tight. Strong arms took hold of him, too, and he buried his face into the embroidery and lace and fine fabric of his uncle’s long coat.

“You’re back,” Governor Gideon whispered. He finally broke apart and held him at arm’s length as if to study every feature anew. There were tears in the corners of his eyes as he smiled. “I heard you were escorting the injured to the infirmary. I was on my way to come find you.”

_ Good thing you didn’t show up when I was panicking over Morgan being taken away from me _ , he thought distantly. Instead of voicing that particular sentiment, he just shook his head out and forced himself to smile back like coming home to the manor was the only thing on his mind. “Well, I’m… I’m here,” he said.

“And you’re alright?” he asked, patting his cheek, his hair, his shoulder. “You’re not hurt?”

Spencer nodded, mute.

The governor picked up on his discomfort in an instant. “Nevermind that,” he smiled, lifting his palms. “You’ve been through a lot. We can talk about this later. Let’s just get you home for now, and you can take all the time you need.”

“Okay,” he said.

The driver took the moment to interject. “Will we be turning the carriage around, sir?” he asked.

Governor Gideon waved a kindly hand up at him as he put an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “Don’t mind the carriage,” he said. “I think I’d like to walk back with my nephew, actually.”

“Very good, sir,” said the driver.

Spencer gave his uncle a small smile. The governor patted his shoulder, and the two set off up the road.

Back home.

* * *

Governor Gideon kept to his word and didn’t pressure Spencer on explaining any more than he wanted to. Once he led him to his room - which he’d kept untouched, he assured him - he left him mostly alone, actually. 

Spencer sat on his bed once his uncle left the room. Looked down at the fine rug under his bed. Followed the curves of the carved bedposts with his eyes. Glanced out the broad, open window where the sun was shining through, down at the forest and the town and the bay below.

The scenery looked slightly distorted through the uneven glass panes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed that before.

He kicked off his worn boots before leaning back on top of the sheets, resting his head against the embroidered pillows. He ended up falling asleep for most of the afternoon before he knew it. He awoke a few hours later, found something to eat in the kitchens, said hello to the kitchen staff, then retreated back into the seclusion of his room. He drew up a bath and spent a long time in it, scrubbing out his hair - he hadn’t been able to really wash it out properly for weeks, and he had to admit it was something he’d missed while on the seas. He had really hated dealing with all the long tangles.

Someone came by to inform him that dinner would be held in an hour, and if he felt up to it, his uncle would enjoy his company. Spencer dismissed him with a nod and set about dressing himself properly.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror before he left his room, and he paused.

His hair, brushed out and straight again, pulled back with a brand-new ribbon. His embroidered justaucorps with the wide cuffs. The white neck-tie, the fabric ruffled and smooth. Breeches. Shoes.

_ This feels… too much.  _

_ But I always dress like this _ , he thought, frowning.  _ This is what I always wear. _

_ Why… does this feel almost… wrong, now? _

* * *

Spencer snuck into town that night after dinner to check up on Morgan. He was out of surgery, but was asleep when he arrived. Emily had admitted herself in overnight, as well, and was being treated for her injuries from the battle. 

The nurse on duty didn’t allow Spencer in to see either of them.

The following morning, he debated when to try again. If he tried too many times, he was worried someone might start asking questions, so he tried to calculate the best time to stop by so that he’d be able to talk to Morgan and not make it look too conspicuous. 

A strand of hair had come free of its tie, and he brushed it away. It fell back almost instantly. The mosquito-delicate tactile sensation of it brushing against his neck set his teeth on edge - his general anxiety about being back in Port Quantico was only amplifying it. His worry about Morgan. His stress over seeing him. His mounting unease at being back in his old clothes. Back in his old room. Back in the place where he used to wake up in a sweat after dreaming about Morgan, in the place he’d spend hours plotting out how to lose his latest commission, in the place he spent years and years denying his attraction to another man… 

He was surrounded by his old life…

His hair scraped across his skin again… 

This place where he used to be satisfied with - 

_ This goddamn hair - _

Satisfied with just pining from afar -

_ GOD my rutting - _

Spencer suddenly slammed his hands down on the desk and yanked the tie out of his infuriating hair. There was a small pair of shears in his drawer. He pulled open the drawer with a little more force than necessary and grabbed the shears.

He hesitated for a second in the mirror, but he was too committed to stop. His heart was racing too fast. He grabbed a fistful of his hair. 

And in one decisive snip, cut it off.

Short.

* * *

“Spencer?”

He froze midstep in the hall. Slowly flicked his gaze to the doorway of his uncle’s office.

Where his uncle was standing, an open book forgotten in his hands. Staring at him.

Spencer didn’t move, and neither did the governor. They stood like that for a long, drawn-out moment. Spencer’s pulse rushed through his ears as his creeping self-consciousness suddenly spiked. 

Because his long, brown ponytail was currently lying in sheared-off clumps on his dresser, and the hair he still had was shorter than he’d ever worn it before in his life. Shorter than any respectable man of his status would ever be caught dead wearing at a high-end event. He couldn’t tie it back with a ribbon now if he tried - he couldn’t even tuck it behind his ears anymore. 

He knew it looked awful. He couldn’t even pass for a well-groomed villager. He hadn’t bothered to try to cut it into any particular style, he had just been too focused on cutting it off, cutting it all off  _ now _ .

_ Well… now you did it. You followed through with that impulse whim, and here’s your first interaction with another human being after doing so.  _

Governor Gideon, to Spencer’s surprise, didn’t choose to address his new haircut first, despite the fact that it  _ had _ to be the most noticeable thing about him at the moment. After the long silence, staring at each other through the open doorway, his uncle slowly closed the book in his hands and said, more calmly than he probably conceivably should have, “Where are you going?”

“Uh…” Spencer slid his hands into his pockets and threw a glance down the hall, in the direction of the grand stairwell that would have taken him to the front doors - and the estate gates beyond.  _ Why isn’t he saying anything about my hair? How could he possibly not want to question me about it? Why does he look so… why does he look  _ understanding _ , like he just figured something out? _

“The… infirmary,” he admitted at length, and he was telling the truth. “In town.”

“Ah.” Governor Gideon actually  _ smiled _ a little, smiled that warm, understanding smile of his. He placed the book down on his desk and put his palms together, raising his eyebrows. “Off to visit your love?”

An uncomfortable, self-conscious blush rushed up Spencer’s face again - tenfold.  _ Off to visit your love off to visit your love off to visit your love…  _ “W-what?” he squeaked. “No, I’m… no.”

“Yes you are.” His uncle just spread his hands innocently. A question.

Spencer wished he could compose himself better so he could put up a half-decent argument to divert whatever accusation his uncle had just laid out on the table.  _ He didn’t specify love _ , he frantically reasoned.  _ He didn’t specify, this isn’t what you think it is…  _

He forced himself to frown, like the only thing that was bothering him was a simple misunderstanding. “Emily…” he said slowly, almost apologetically, “Uncle, I… I’m sorry, but I… I just… I don’t love Emily. She isn’t my love. I know I’m expected to propose to her, to marry her, but I… don’t love her in that way -”

“I wasn’t talking about the commodore, Spencer.”

His entire body went cold.

_ Oh no oh no oh no no no no… _

“When did you first know?” his uncle’s voice was gentle. Soft, like he was speaking to a spooked animal, trying to keep it from bolting.

And Spencer  _ really _ felt like bolting at that moment. He wasn’t even sure where his uncle was going with this, his mind was seized on too many thoughts to function properly. “Know… know what?” he asked.

His uncle only smiled a little sadder when he said softly, “That you’re bisexual.”

_ Bisexual. _

_ Capable of developing an attraction to more than one gender.  _

_ I read that once, that word, that description. In some book I found in the banned section of the library, banned because of the book’s in-depth analysis of countless human sexualities… I picked it up once on a whim before I even knew… before I even…  _

“Well?”

Spencer snapped back to the situation in front of him. His uncle. Still looking relaxed as ever. Asking him when he first knew he was attracted to men in addition to women. He swallowed. “I…” his voice felt dry, “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

His uncle nodded down at the ground, once. “Come in,” he said, offering his hand. Spencer took a reflexive step back, his heart rate spiking in fear, but the governor didn’t grab him. Instead, he placed his hand gently on his tension-locked shoulder and led him inside the office. He quietly closed the doors behind them.

Spencer couldn’t help feeling like the click of the lock was the sound of a death knell.

Despite that feeling, Governor Gideon’s composure of perfect ease before him conveyed the exact opposite sentiment, which only confused Spencer more thoroughly. His uncle gestured to a chair. “You can sit down if you wish,” he said. “Please don’t look at me so fearfully. You know I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Do I?” he whispered, making no motions to sit.

That made his uncle’s smile fall, replacing it with a deep sadness that he’d hardly ever seen before. The same expression that had been on his face when he stepped out of the carriage, before he learned that Spencer was home and safe. “When have I ever given you reason to believe otherwise?” he asked. 

Spencer swallowed.  _ Of course you haven’t. You’ve never given me reason to believe you’d ever hurt me. Never. _

_ But this… _

_ This… _

“It’s… it’s not you,” he whispered. Hands in his pockets with no intention of taking them out  _ anytime _ soon. He averted his gaze, studied everything in the office except for his uncle’s face. “You’ve never… It’s more than that…”

“It’s okay. Spencer… look at me.”

He did.

His uncle’s palms were spread. Open. “It’s okay,” he said. 

The honest understanding, the  _ acceptance _ and… almost the sense of  _ pride _ in his demeanor… Spencer didn’t know how to respond. He ducked his chin again. “How… long?” he asked quietly. “Have you, you know… known.”

The governor shrugged. “A fair while. You?”

_ A few years.  _ Instead of answering that, he just murmured, “How?”

“How did  _ I  _ know?” Another shrug. A dip of the chin. “Couldn’t tell you, exactly. Sometimes you can just tell when someone’s trying to hide something - even from themselves. But… just recently is when I knew for sure precisely what it was you weren’t admitting to yourself.”

“How?”

Governor Gideon took a seat on one of the two chairs angled towards each other. Hesitantly, Spencer lowered himself onto the edge of the other, his elbows on his knees and his shoulders still curved in as he looked to his uncle as he began to explain.

“When I offered the idea of your marriage to Commodore Prentiss,” he said, “Your thoughts immediately went to someone else. I could tell that right off the bat. When faced with the prospect of binding yourself to another… Emily was not that other.”

_ Morgan was. _ He shifted in his seat.

“But you never offered that person as an alternative, whoever it was that had captured your heart. And you knew that my word wasn’t set in stone, that you could have changed my suggestion, didn’t you? You knew I would have been willing to let you marry someone else of your choosing in Emily’s place.”

_ Not if it was a man, you wouldn’t have been… would you?  _ “Yes,” he said.

“And yet, you didn’t. Not once. There was someone else on your mind, but you didn’t offer to marry them, instead. I figured… well, I figured that you must have felt that the alternative in your heart wouldn’t have been accepted in some capacity or another.”

“And you immediately thought I was thinking about a man?”

“You’re the least forgetful person on this planet, Spencer. There was no reason for you to commission  _ that _ many swords from the handsome weaponsmith in town.”

He blushed and looked away. “Oh.”

His uncle chuckled. “Spencer,” he said, “I know there’s a lot of stigma in this elite court. A lot of things people don’t like to talk about in good company… and a lot of people that  _ will _ suddenly start talking if something unorthodox reaches their ears. Both you and that weaponsmith are in no small amount of danger here in Port Quantico, especially given your status. You know that. Now, I’m not particularly talking about physical danger - though it’s not entirely off the table, as I’m sure you’re well aware - but I am speaking of reputations, and other things of that nature.”

Spencer’s heart sank. “So, you’re saying…” he murmured. “That I… shouldn’t see him anymore.”

“ _ Have _ you seen him in that capacity?”

“No.” He frowned and shook his head to clarify. “Not… not here, not in Port Quantico. Not anywhere else, either, not… not in  _ that _ way, but… Morgan… didn’t find me on the  _ Black Queen _ , that day Emily brought Cat into port. I… I had escaped earlier than that. And… did spend some time around Morgan, in the time in between my escape and Cat’s capture.”

“And does he love you?”

Spencer nodded slowly. “Yes,” he whispered.

Governor Gideon smiled. “I’m glad,” he said. “Love is a hard thing to find, and an even harder thing to keep - especially here. I’m happy you found some of your own.”

He looked down at his hands, his heart feeling heavy once again. “But you think I should stop seeing him. For my reputation.”

“No.”

Spencer’s head snapped up.

The governor was shaking his head. “No, I don’t think you should stop. Why should I? What right do I have in keeping you apart from your love?”

“You’re the governor,” he said.

“I’m also your family.” He waved a hand. “I know there’s all that business of only being related by marriage ties, not sharing any blood, yes, but family’s more than that. I just want you to be happy, Spencer, and you’re no longer happy here.”

“I’m happy.”

“You spend more time gazing out the windows at the open sea than you ever did before Cat Adams kidnapped you. You’re melancholy. Subdued. You walk these halls like a ghost. And you seek every chance you get to get out of this house to visit your weaponsmith in the infirmary. Not to mention, I don’t think I’ve seen you crack open a single book.” He tried to smile, but this time it came out sad. “You’re leaving, aren’t you. You’re going to leave Port Quantico.”

Spencer didn’t say anything.

That was answer enough. Governor Gideon’s smile grew sadder. “I won’t ask what happened in the weeks between your departure from these docks on the  _ Profiler _ to your return in the company of the injured smith. But I can see clearly that whatever you got a taste for out there on the seas… you want to find again. This life, the life you once lived here in this manor, doesn’t fit you anymore. You feel that, don’t you? Like… you never came back at all, not really.”

_ Yes. _

_ I do feel that. _

“Spencer…” His uncle reached across the space between them and took his hand. Spencer met his gaze, and his uncle nodded. “I’m not going to force you into any life you don’t want to live. You’re your own person, that decision is up to you. And if that decision takes you away from this manor, away from these shores… I will not stop you.”

Spencer and his uncle looked at each other for a long time. His heart felt weak, trembling, hearing him say those words. “Really?” he whispered.

He nodded. “Really.”

“But… I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly.

“I know you don’t, Spencer,” He rubbed his hand. “But you don’t need to worry about this. I promise. I will miss you deeply, but the knowledge that you are out in the world, pursuing what makes you happy, thriving,  _ loving _ … believe me when I say that that is all the comfort I need.”

More words came to him, but not his uncle’s. Words from a witch in a house in the trees.  _ Surround yourself with the people you care about.  _ That  _ is what will make you happy. _

_ The people I care about… JJ, Emily, Penelope… and Morgan. _

_ But Gideon’s part of that group, too. _

“I’ll come back,” he promised. “I’ll visit you any way I can. I won’t leave forever.” He swallowed. “I’ll miss you, too.”

His uncle just smiled, rose from his seat, and embraced him as he, too, rose to standing. Spencer wrapped his arms around his uncle and held him tightly.

“I assume,” the governor said, “There’s a certain patient in the infirmary who’s being kept waiting, in me keeping you here?”

He shrugged… but the corner of his mouth gave the barest flicker upwards. “Probably,” he admitted.

“Then I’ll let you go.” Governor Gideon patted him on the shoulder as he studied his nephew’s face. A thought seemed to cross his mind. “In just a moment, that is.”

“What? Why?”

“I think something needs to be done about that hair of yours before you go traipsing through the streets of this city.”

His hand immediately flew to his head - to the messy, choppy strands that had become of his previously-fashionable hairstyle. Feeling the strands end so abruptly was still somewhat of a shock to him. “Oh,” he said. “Right. I… wasn’t trying very hard when I took my shears to it just now…”

“Not to worry.” The governor reached over to the nearest drawer of his fine desk and drew it open. Reaching in, he pulled out his own small pair of shears and held them up. 

Spencer blinked in surprise. 

“It’s the least I can do for you,” he told him, angling his head back down at the seat. “One last favor, governor to nephew. I’m no barber, but at least I can attempt to make that mop of yours look a little more presentable for your love to see.”

Spencer couldn’t help himself. The laugh burst forth entirely of its own accord.

_ One last favor. _

_ Before the nephew of the governor of Port Quantico leaves his home for good. _

* * *

The nurse on duty had to do a double-take, seeing him dressed in his fine nobleman’s clothes but sporting as short - and now, thanks to his uncle, as  _ clean  _ \- a hairstyle as any working-class man, but he found that he didn’t particularly care. He just offered her a smile as he asked after Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss, patients that should have still been in the recovery room. She nodded and pointed him to the doors.

Spencer took a breath before pushing them open.

The room was long and filled with cots with white sheets. Most of them were empty, but Spencer recognized a few soldiers stretched out here and there, and a woman with a plaster cast on her wrist sleeping a little down the ways.

_ But no nurses.  _

Emily and Morgan were on beds side by side by the wall. None of the other patients were anywhere near them. They were essentially isolated from everyone else. 

Emily’s eyes - or at least the one that wasn’t still bruised and swollen - widened in shock as she noticed him come through the door. “ _ Spencer? _ ” she said, sitting up against her pillow, her mouth falling open into an O.

“Hi,” he said as he approached. 

“What the hell happened to your  _ hair? _ ”

He ran a hand through the short, brown locks - Governor Gideon had done his best to crop them a little closer on the sides. The top, he left slightly longer. Without the weight pulling them down anymore, those longer top strands had begun to curl just slightly. Spencer couldn’t have been more overjoyed at how it looked, now. “It was bothering me, so I cut it off,” he said.

“I’m just…” she blinked and shook her head. “I am just not used to looking at you and seeing  _ that _ .”

He looked to Morgan beside her, who was rolled over on his side and seemed to be asleep. “Is he okay?” he asked.

“Oh, him? He will be.” Emily gave his muscled arm a nudge. When that didn’t seem to do anything, she swatted him a couple times. Spencer knelt in the space between their cots and batted her hand away from the weaponsmith’s sleeping form.

Her roughhousing did do its job rousing him. Morgan inhaled slowly and scrunched his brows, rolling over to stretch. “Hm?” he groaned.

“You have a visitor,” Emily grinned, and gave Spencer a wink. “You’re probably gonna want to open your eyes for this.”

Morgan sighed and cracked open a dark eye. 

A soft smile spread upon Spencer’s lips. “Hey,” he said. He slipped his hand into Morgan’s and held it. “How are you feeling?”

The weaponsmith blinked. Stared. Spencer’s smile only broadened the longer he took to process what he was seeing.  _ Me with short hair… leaning over his bedside with short hair…  _

“Now, hold  _ up _ ,” the weaponsmith mumbled, developing a bewildered but whipped-looking smile of his own, “The  _ hell _ is this? Did I die on the table or something? What is this striking, divine vision I’m seeing right now?”

Spencer just shook his head and grinned wider. “No,” he said, “You’re not dead. I’m really here.”

“Oh,  _ you’re _ here, sure but your  _ hair _ sure isn’t. You wanna explain that?”

“Do you like it?” His free hand raised self-consciously to the shortened sides. 

“Do I…” Morgan just blinked again. Shook his head. Gave a huff of a laugh as he was unable to contain… whatever it was his haircut was making him feel. “I… yeah,” he finally exclaimed. “Reid, you look… you’re… I don’t even know how to say it…”

“Pretty?” 

“ _ Beautiful _ ,” he insisted. 

“You think so?”

“ _ Hell yeah _ I think so, man. I mean, the longer hair looked great  _ before _ , but  _ this _ is… this is a whole new  _ level _ .”

Spencer averted his gaze, but he was smiling through his growing blush. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Incredible,” he replied, squeezing his hand. “I think seeing your face right now after seeing nothing but these nurses just tacked a few extra years onto my lifespan.”

Emily chose that moment to pipe up with a wicked smirk. “Yeah, and a few extra  _ inches  _ onto your -”

“Hey,” Morgan interrupted hurriedly, pointing a finger in her direction, “Woman, don’t you start. I am enjoying a touching moment with my boy, who has happened to grow even more stunning in the days of his absence.”

The weaponsmith had directed that last bit up at Spencer, a look of absolute adoration in his eyes. Spencer beamed and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Morgan kissed him back.

Emily just raised her eyebrows. “That’s cute. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong, Derek.”

“Aw, cut it out,” Spencer said after taking his time pulling away from his kiss.

“Case in point. I’m glad I’ll be out of here by tonight, and I won’t have to be in the same room as you two.”

“I’m… not going to be in this room either,” Spencer insisted, but a new kind of mortified heat worked its way through his body.

Morgan mock-frowned. “You won’t?”

“I - no,” he exclaimed. “ _ No _ , I’m not gonna…  _ Morgan _ .”

“Aw, why not, Reid?” he grinned.

“Because… I’m just not, that’s why! Do you see all the other people in here? No. I’m not gonna.”

Emily narrowed her eyes at them. “Hey, here’s a question for you, both of you,” she said. “How come you don’t call each other by your first names?”

They blinked.

“Everyone else is on a first-name basis, except the two of you with each other,” she said. “Which I thought was kind of weird, given that you’re so… close.”

Spencer and Morgan looked at each other. “I… guess I never thought to switch over,” Spencer said. “I mean… I’ve just been so used to calling you Morgan. Like… a habit, by this point.”

“I always called you Reid because you’re the nobleman,” Morgan said. “Didn’t want to… I dunno, disrespect your status or something.”

“Disrespect my status? What?” he insisted. “You’re not disrespecting anything. You’re allowed to call me Spencer if you want.”

“Oh. I mean… it’s been kind of a habit for me, too. Do you…  _ want _ me to call you Spencer?”

“If you want… sure.”

“Okay. Well.” He nodded. “Spencer.”

“And… Derek,” Spencer replied. He caught himself grinning at the sound of his first name on his lips. “This is going to take a while to get used to.”

“Yeah.”

Emily let out a long suffering sigh. “Forget I said anything. Yikes. That got way more affectionate than I intended it to.”

“Nah, this was good,” Morgan - no,  _ Derek _ said with a grin, squeezing Spencer’s hand again. “Thanks for bringing it up, Emily.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.” She leaned back into her pillow. “So… what now.”

And that finally sobered the tone of the room.

But Spencer didn’t feel depressed or anxious, the way he had always felt when that question cropped up in conversation.  _ What now _ . 

He… didn’t feel worried about what would happen now.

For the first time, he knew what would happen.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I… can’t in my right mind show my face at any formal gathering anymore, not with my hair like this, now,” he said.

Derek frowned. “What, the rich ladies don’t go for the shorter look?” he asked.

“It would be like showing up in black tie for a white tie event - not even that, really. It’d be like showing up in dirty laborer’s clothing. This style… it’s generally stigmatized for the working classes, not the upper class.”

“So… remind me again why you cut it in the first place?” Emily asked.

He gave a small shrug. “Because… I don’t want to be upper class anymore.”

Emily and Derek stared at him.

“It doesn’t fit,” he explained. “Ever since I came back, I’ve been living in the governor’s manor just like I always have… but it feels different, now. It’s not the same. After everything that’s happened - with Cat, and with Penelope and JJ and the  _ Queen _ \- it’s… well, it’s just not where I belong anymore.”

“Thank God,” Emily murmured. “I’m not the only one.”

His gaze snapped to hers. “You felt it, too?”

She nodded. “Smacked me in the face as soon as my lieutenants started looking to me for orders. As soon as I had to act like the commodore again… you said it perfectly. It was fun while it lasted, but I don’t think it’s my place.”

“But you can’t just leave,” Derek insisted, looking between both of them. “You can’t just… up and leave your post, Emily. And… and Spencer, you’re the nephew of the most prominent man in Port Quantico, people are going to notice if you just leave.”

The sound of his first name on Derek’s lips made his heart swell with warmth. Spencer shrugged a shoulder and said, “What are they gonna do about it, though? I mean… I’ll be long gone by the time they realize. And I don’t intend on seeing most of them ever again.”

Derek held his gaze. “Wait,” he said. “You’re… you’re really considering leaving? Like… leaving Port Quantico?”

“I don’t think I would have cut my hair so short if I wasn’t.”

“I want to leave, too,” Emily said. “I can leave a note of resignation on my desk in my office. Hotch’s been overdue for a promotion for a few years, now.” She cracked a smile. “I think he’d do a good job as Commodore Hotchner.”

Derek lifted his hands. “Well, if this is the plan here, then I want in, too.”

“You’re injured,” Spencer warned.

“We can at least wait until they release me from this place, can’t we?” He nodded resolutely. “I want out. And if you two are going where I think you’re going, then I sure as hell want to come with.”

“Keg Town,” said Emily. 

Spencer nodded in agreement. “It’s the answer to all our problems,” he said. “I won’t be pressured into marrying Emily anymore.”

“I won’t be pressured into marrying  _ anyone _ ,” she said. “Won’t ever be expected to give up my career to raise some man’s children.”

“I mean, you are still kind of giving up your career.”

“True, but it’s of my own accord, not necessity from lack of commitment. I’m calling the shots this time.” A thought seemed to cross her mind, and she glanced away. “Plus… I promised someone I’d see them again. And I don’t intend to break it.”

Spencer looked at her.  _ Right. There  _ was  _ that interesting interplay on the deck before the  _ Profiler  _ boarded the  _ Queen _ . That little conversation she and JJ had, the quick kiss JJ pressed to her cheek…  _

“Not to mention,” Derek added, “Keg Town’s the only place where I can do  _ this  _ to Pretty Boy here and no one’ll bat an eye.” Without warning, he leaned up and kissed Spencer on the corner of his mouth. Spencer grinned, placed a hand on the weaponsmith’s cheek, and kissed him properly - briefly, but properly.

“I mean,  _ I’m  _ batting an eye,” Emily commented. “Listen, maybe cut that out for now? We’re not in Keg Town yet.”

Derek’s dark eyes flicked around the room. “Do you… see any nurses?” he asked. He was still holding Spencer’s hand.

“No, but  _ I  _ would still be careful, if it was me who was kissing another woman in here. There’ll be plenty of time for that sort of stuff once we get there.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes just slightly. The weaponsmith’s expression matched his own when they shared a glance. “Planning on  _ making  _ time for that sort of stuff, then, Emily?” Derek asked.

“What?” she frowned.

“Kissing women.”

“I… what does that have to do with this?”

“ _ You _ were the one who brought up the prospect,” Spencer said.

Emily scoffed. “No,  _ you two  _ did when you decided to start making out in broad daylight.”

“Yeah, we weren’t the ones talking about  _ women _ , though,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Something you wanna tell us, Emily?”

“Why  _ was _ it you didn’t want to marry me, again? Or  _ any _ man?”

“Because you’re a nosy little bastard, that’s why,” she retorted with another resolute scoff. “Derek can have you. I’ll kiss whoever I goddamn please, thank you very much, and not a  _ shred  _ of that is your business.”

Spencer and Derek raised an eyebrow at each other, but didn’t further this train of conversation… not for the time being, at least. 

_ This is certainly an interesting development… _

“I assume we’ll be taking the  _ Redwing _ to Keg Town,” Emily clipped, changing the subject. “How soon do we plan on leaving?”

“As soon as the surgeons clear me to go. A week, they said. Maybe more. I had to get a lot of stitches,” Derek said.

“My uncle and I can sort out my affairs in no time at all,” Spencer said. “I’ll be ready whenever you are, just send word.”

“Good.” She nodded. 

“We’re really leaving, huh,” Derek said. 

Emily and Spencer nodded. “Yeah,” Spencer said. 

“Ditching the simple life for a life of piracy on the high seas with the crew of Penelope Garcia’s _ Black Queen _ .”

“And everything that comes along with that life,” Emily said.

Spencer smiled down at his hands. “You know,” he said, “I never… never understood why JJ left Port Quantico to become a pirate. It was always a mystery to me.” He shrugged, gazing at the faces of the man he loved and the best friend he adored. “Now… I think I’m finally starting to get it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go. The kids set off from their stuffy lives in society to pursue their freedom on the high seas with the people they love :) Stay tuned tomorrow for the epilogue...


	20. Anchors Up, Again

And that was how, two weeks later, a retired weaponsmith, an ex-commodore, and a nobleman-turned-pirate found themselves walking through the streets of Keg Town, their ship stripped of all official naval colors and bobbing behind them in the wharf.

It felt nothing like the first time Derek had slunk through the pirate town, when he had been consumed by worry and fear over the unknown whereabouts of the man currently walking by his side. When he still felt wary about trusting the captain who had led them through the winding, haphazard avenues. No, this time… this time he felt much more at ease. 

He felt  _ right _ .

“You know,” Spencer said, “I’m pretty glad you two know the way, because it has come to my attention that I haven’t actually seen any part of this town besides the harbor.”

Derek blinked. “Really?”

“He only escaped from Cat long enough to get shot,” Emily said. “And after that, you carried him to the  _ Redwing _ , Derek.”

“So I have no idea where this inn is,” Spencer said cheerily.

“It’s right up here,” Derek said, gesturing. He suddenly frowned, and looked to the woman in their company. “Right? It’s this intersection, right?”

“I think so.”

“You  _ think  _ so?”

“Listen, I have the same limited experience navigating these streets as you do.”

“Oh, great,” said Spencer. “So now we’re lost in the middle of one of the most notorious pirate settlements in the entire archipelago?”

“No, no, we are not  _ lost _ ,” Derek insisted. “We’re in the right place. This is the  _ nice _ part of town where all the civilians live, so we’ve gotta be close. If we were gonna get mugged or jumped, it would have happened down by the docks.”

Spencer lifted his eyebrows in a gesture of doubt but yielded to his friends’ guidance.

He’d told them on the ship ride there about his final weeks living under his uncle’s roof. Governor Gideon had accepted interim ownership of Spencer’s family’s property on the mainland, and had promised to keep the leering bankers away until Spencer decided what he wished to do with the land. 

When Derek had asked him how he felt about leaving his beloved uncle, Spencer had just given a small shrug. “It’s different,” he’d said. “I miss him… but he assured me he’s happy for me and my decision, so… I think I’ll be okay.”

Derek had given him a side-hug in return.

The three of them found their way through Keg Town eventually. At the sight of the lighted front of the inn, the sign bearing the name  _ Rosaline’s _ displayed prominently as ever, all three of them seemed to exhale.

“ _ Rosaline’s _ , huh,” Spencer said, smiling sadly.

“Yeah,” Emily said. “Named after JJ’s -”

“Elder sister, yeah. I knew Ros. Not as well as I knew JJ, but… I did know her.” He cracked a small smile. “It’s nice to see that she's being remembered.”

Derek shifted his weight as the three of them stood outside the doors. “Think they’re here?” he asked.

Emily nodded. Her gaze was oddly fixed on the door. “They’re here,” she said. “I told her to wait for me here.”

Derek and Spencer shared a look as the woman pushed through the doors.

_ Rosaline’s _ was cheerfully filled as ever - most of the trestle tables sported patrons gathered to eat, drink, and talk amicably. Golden lamplight filled the entire room, and a fire burned in the hearth at the far end. From behind the bar, the bartender noticed their arrival and his face broke into a grin. “Well, if it isn’t Derek Morgan,” Will Lamontagne called. 

Derek spread his hands and crossed the room, Spencer and Emily in tow. “How you been, man?” he asked, shaking the bartender’s hand.

“Jus’ fine,” he grinned, his gaze sweeping over his companions. “Fancy meeting  _ you _ here, Commodore,” he said. “Thought you were only tagging along with these guys to get your friend back.”

“I was,” she said. “And my friend  _ is  _ back. Will, this is Spencer Reid.”

Spencer gave an awkward, close-lipped wave, and Will smiled at him. “JJ’s told me a lot about you,” he said. “You’re her best friend.”

“Well, she’s mine,” he said.

Will turned back to Emily with a knowing smirk. “Got a taste for the pirate life on your last adventure, and decided to jump the navy ship?” he asked.

“Something like that. I guess… well, I guess I feel like I can do my best work when I’m not constrained by the rigidness of the military.”

“Lookin’ to become a vigilante justice-seeker?”

“You could say that.”

“Happens to the best of us,” he grinned.

Derek idly tapped the bartop with his knuckles. “So,” he said, “Is the crew of the  _ Black Queen _ here?”

Will opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, there was a loud crash. A pewter jug of water suddenly dropped to the floor and splashed across the wood floor. The blonde figure who had been carrying it immediately abandoned it and exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile, “ _ Emily!” _

“JJ,” the ex-commodore said, but her words were cut off as the first mate threw her arms around her and held her in a tight embrace. Emily hesitantly embraced her back.

“I knew you’d come back,” JJ beamed, holding her at arm’s length.

Emily shrugged. “I figured… I belong out here,” she said, and…  _ was that a blush warming her cheeks as she said those words? _

Derek didn’t have time to dwell on that, because JJ had caught sight of him, too. “Derek,” she said, pulling him into a hug - albeit a noticeably briefer and more casual one. “How’s your side?”

Derek shrugged, his hand brushing the bandages wrapped around his middle. The wound still ached painfully, but it wasn’t infected, and Spencer had assured him that it was healing nicely when he had switched out the bindings on the journey there. “It’ll take more than a shot like this to keep me down,” he grinned. 

“Don’t poke him, though,” Spencer added with a small smirk. “He’s still in a lot of pain if it gets jostled. He got  _ all _ defensive when  _ I  _ tried to patch him up.”

She looked to him, and her head tipped to the side with another warm smile. “Spence.”

“Hey, Jennifer,” he beamed as the two friends put their arms around each other. 

“Now, I did _ not  _ get defensive,” Derek insisted, pointing a finger at Spencer.

“Yes, you absolutely did,” he insisted.

“There was a lot of hollering coming from belowdecks when he tried to switch the bandages,” Emily said, “More than the situation should have needed. I’ll concur with the defensive argument.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at her, but he couldn’t deny that she had a fair point about the yelling that had taken place - though he was more than a little embarrassed that it had been loud enough that Emily had heard it from above decks, considering some of the  _ other  _ things that had come out of his mouth. He recalled their conversation. 

_ “Ow!” _

_ “I barely even touched you, would you calm down?” _

_ “Listen, Pretty Boy, when you sat me down just now and told me to take off my shirt, I was not signing up for this sort of treatment when I said, ‘Hell yeah; I’ll even take off more if you want’.” _

_ “Well, it’s too late to rescind that enthusiastic affirmation. Move your hand.” _

_ “No - get your - get that away from me - ow!” _

_ “If you would stop  _ squirming _ , then it wouldn’t bother your stitches nearly as much, you big baby.” _

_ “Hey-!” _

Spencer was giving him a look out of the corner of his eye, and Derek was fairly certain he was remembering their unnecessarily antagonistic endeavor, as well.

“Why can’t you two provide basic first aid to each other without fighting?” JJ rolled her eyes. “Didn’t the same thing happen when you were digging the bullet out of his leg, Derek?”

“I seem to recall a fair amount of yelling back then, too,” Emily agreed.

“Derek is just  _ that  _ shockingly awful at being patient and medical professional both,” Spencer said.

Derek sighed heavily. “Where’s Penelope?” he asked. “She’d take my side in this.”

“Says who, angel-fish?”

A pair of arms suddenly wrapped themselves firmly around Derek’s waist, accompanied by an ever-familiar lilting voice. Derek turned to see the pirate captain’s round face beaming up at him, her blonde curls done up in two little knots on top of her head. “Hey, Babygirl,” he said.

“I knew you couldn’t keep yourself away from me for long,” she winked, letting him go and coming around to the group. “You either, Emily Prentiss. C’mere, beautiful.”

“Hi, Penelope.”

“And  _ of course _ , the Boy Wonder himself - and  _ look _ at this  _ snazzy  _ new ‘do!”

“It’s good to see you,” Spencer said, detaching himself from the captain’s embrace.

“Even better to see you all,” she grinned, putting her hands on her hips. “This isn’t just a temporary visit, I hope? Emily, you’re not wearing any naval colors; Spencer cut all his hair off…”

“It’s not temporary,” Spencer assured her, sharing a glance with Derek that made his heart flare with warmth. “We’re here to stay.”

“With you,” Emily said, sending JJ a small smile. JJ returned it. 

“I knew it,” Penelope said, pressing her palms together with barely-contained excitement. “I told you. After all your worrying about going back to your old home lives, I knew you’d pick us in the end.”

Spencer shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. “You were very convincing,” he said.

“Never thought I’d ever be able to say that we convinced the  _ commodore of Port Quantico _ to abandon the military for a life of piracy, though,” JJ smirked, elbowing Emily and making her laugh.

“I’d never quit my job for anyone else,” she assured her.

“But you  _ did  _ quit?” asked Penelope. Emily nodded. “So, without you at the helm… who’s the new commodore?”

“Aaron Hotchner,” she said. “One of my most trusted lieutenants.”

“Is he any good?”

“One of the best.”

“So now you’ve put one of the best officers in the archipelago in charge of hunting us pirates down?”

“A little challenge never hurt anyone, it’ll keep us on our toes,” she said. “Plus, I figured if my replacement is going to be the one coming after me in the future, he might as well be someone I know well so we can always stay one step ahead of him.”

“And if we can’t?”

Emily shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “Lemme just put it this way. If you thought  _ I  _ was a hardass… compared to Hotch, I’m Spencer.”

Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “What!?”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, but her apology was paired with a grin that looked anything but apologetic. More akin to a gleeful cat.

“I can be tough!” Spencer had fallen for her teasing jab completely, and his reaction was exactly what Emily had been looking for. Her grin only grew as he railed against it in vain. “Emily, I held my own against a sociopath pirate queen for a  _ week! _ I  _ shot  _ her in the leg!”

“Yeah,” she said cooly, “Real hardasses don’t have to justify their hardassery to other people, Spencer.”

Whatever he’d been about to say died in his throat, and he pressed his lips together with indignation, unable to come up with a decent comeback.

“Aw, lay off him.” JJ gave Emily’s arm a light smack, but she was biting back a smile of her own. 

“Anyway,” Penelope said, waving her hand, “The root of the matter is, Emily, you’re off the hook and free to fraternize with us as you please, and that is very good news in my opinion. The disaster loverboys are with us once more, as well, and I think it’s safe to say they’re not going anywhere if they wish to continue being loverboys, am I right?”

“Right,” said Derek.

“Do you have anyplace to stay? Somewhere permanent you can rent here in town?”

“My ship,” Emily said. “For me, at least.”

“We just got here, Penelope, we really didn’t have that much time to poke around the town housing market,” Spencer said.

“Oh, that’s right. Well, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find someplace nice.”

“And there’s no rush,” JJ assured them. “Really. You can take a room or two for yourselves upstairs - you too, Emily, if you don’t feel like hiking up from the docks.”

“Are you sure?”

JJ waved a hand. “Of course, it’s no trouble.”

“Oh. Well… thanks. I’ll… go find one, then.” Emily looked to Derek and Spencer and angled her head towards the door that would lead to the steps upstairs. “You two better come pick a room, too. I want to make sure whatever room  _ I  _ pick is  _ far _ away from yours.”

“Why, what do you think we’re going to do?” Spencer frowned. 

Emily just raised a dubious eyebrow. Derek crossed his arms and tactfully avoided eye contact, trying not to draw attention to himself.  _ Oh, I could think of a couple things…  _

Spencer finally seemed to realize that Derek was trying a little too hard not to answer the question, and his pretty face began to turn a violent shade of red. “What do  _ you  _ think we’re going to do?” he demanded of Derek.

“Choose a place upstairs to live out of until you find a real home, amen,” Penelope piped up, trying and failing to hide her mirth. “When you’re done claiming your rooms, please do come back down here. Drinks are on the house for the three newest pirates in town!”

“Oh, say no more! I’m in,” Emily grinned. “Come on, boys, let’s get this over with so we can get to  _ drinking _ .”

There would be no arguing with the woman. Emily was already halfway up the steps, her shadow rapidly receding around the corner. Derek turned to Spencer and said, “Well, Pretty Boy, guess we might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

“How comfortable are we talking about here?” he asked, his brows furrowing just the smallest bit, his cheeks still somewhat marked with pink.

Derek tipped his head. “As comfortable as you’re comfortable with.”

Spencer nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Cool.”

“So… how comfortable  _ is _ that? Just to get an idea… an estimate…”

He shrugged slowly, quirking his mouth to the side in consideration. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “We’ll see.”

“ _ Hey, lovebirds, you coming? _ ” Emily called down to them, poking her head around the corner. 

“Yeah, yeah, relax,” Spencer called right back, hurrying to the stairs. Derek cracked a smile and followed him.

* * *

“Now that we know you’re back, all safe and sound, I think it is  _ high  _ time we get back out on the seas. Do you have any idea how boring it is just sitting around this place for weeks on end, unable to go on adventures lest you three show up and we’re not here to greet you?”

Five mugs of drink around a table in the heart of the warm, golden room.

“It’s not our fault we took so long, I was _ shot! _ I was in the infirmary all that time, if I wasn’t we would have set sail sooner!” Derek reasoned.

“Either way,” Penelope said, “The wait period is over and I would like to get back out there.”

“There’s a brand-new commodore out there, and seeing as Cat’s locked up and you’re still at large since your jailbreak, you’re back to being Public Enemy Number One,” Emily warned. “You really wanna go out pirating now?”

“Emily,” she said plainly, “As a woman I greatly respect and admire once told me, a little challenge never hurt anyone.”

Emily flicked her eyebrows in acquiescence and took a drink.

JJ rubbed a thumb across the lip of her mug. “So,” she said, “Cat’s still in jail, huh? She hasn’t weaseled her way out yet?”

Spencer shook his head. “And she’s not going to,” he said. “Nightwatch was doubled since Penelope’s escape, and they have better guards keeping an eye on her and her crew. She’s not getting out.”

“Good,” the first mate nodded.

“Have any of you gone to see her?” Penelope asked.

“Not me,” Emily insisted with a shake of her head. 

Derek found himself glancing to Spencer, who gave a small shrug. “I’ve already said everything I need to say to her,” he said. 

“She can fade into obscurity for all I care,” Derek muttered.

The group nodded to themselves for a moment. An ironic end for the life of a pirate so bent on coming out on top, on making a name for herself. To waste away, nameless, in prison until her execution.

An ironic end… but considering everything she did to the people Derek loved, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel entirely sorry for her.

“Well,” Emily said eventually, “I don’t feel like lazing around Keg Town while the  _ Black Queen _ has all her fun, either. I want in on this adventure, too.”

“Did you sail the  _ Redwing _ here?” JJ asked.

Emily scoffed. “What, you think I’d leave behind my favorite vessel in the archipelago? Not a chance. She’s out there in the harbor now.”

“And Sergio?”

“On board, of course.”

“Well, Em,” beamed Penelope, “If you want to jump right into it, I have no qualms with letting you sail with us. We’d love your company, right, JJ?”

“Yeah,” the first mate blinked.

“Two ships out pirating side by side?” Spencer said. “That sounds like the making of a fleet, to me.”

A spark of interest rippled through the group - Derek included.  _ A fleet. A pirate fleet… Imagine the five of us, commanding a fleet of ships…  _

“A fleet would be able to hold its own against the navy in small skirmishes,” Emily noted. “Even if the ships were small, a few of them together could make some serious headway against it.”

“A fleet,” Penelope mused, her lips curving into a smile. “You wanna talk about a  _ pirate threat  _ on the seas… I’ve never cared so much about my reputation, not nearly as much as Cat did, but  _ damn _ …”

“No other group of pirates has a cohesive fleet,” JJ said. “There are a few alliances, a few ships that sail with each other once and a while, but none that call themselves a fleet.”

“We would be the most notorious pirates in the archipelago,” Penelope grinned.

“We wouldn’t have to do anything Cat-like to get that title, would we?” Spencer clarified. “No captives, no torture…”

“Oh, no, no, certainly not. Pillaging a storehouse once and a while, stealing a ship here and there, picking fights with the real scumbags of the seas, that’s the sort of good fun the  _ Queen’s _ into. But the mere presence of a fleet of ships working in cohesion from the opposite side of the law…  _ that’s _ the kind of news that’s going to grab the attention of our friend Commodore Hotchner.” Her blue eyes sparkled. “And I, for one, find that challenge infinitely exciting.”

Emily gestured to the captain. “Well, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, as exciting as the premise may be,” she warned. “We only have two ships to our name at the moment.”

“That can change,” was all she said in reply.

“That can be our first order of business,” JJ suggested. “Finding more ships to recruit… or commandeer, whichever.”

“I vote we stick Derek and Spencer on the first one we find,” Emily declared.

The two men blinked. “What?” Derek said. 

She gave them a look as though the explanation was obvious. “I’m deciding that, immediately following the capture of a third ship to this fleet, the  _ Redwing _ becomes a No Boys Allowed zone. Sailing from Port Quantico to Keg Town with you two making eyes at each other and murmuring things under your breath was  _ quite _ enough.”

JJ and Penelope turned incredulous expressions onto them. “What did you do?” Penelope exclaimed.

“We didn’t do anything!” Spencer insisted. 

“Irrelevant,” said Emily. “I’m booting you off my ship as soon as I can. And I want the crew that replaces you to be entirely female, too. Except for my cat.”

“I can make that happen,” JJ assured her.

“Thanks.”

Emily gave JJ’s hand a brief pat and earned herself a smile from the first mate, and it looked to Derek like their hands lingered just a little bit too long on each other’s.

Penelope didn’t miss that, either. “Plenty of the old  _ Redwing _ crew is still here in Keg Town,” she said drawing their attention. “I’m sure we can divide them among two ships - and pick up some new faces, while we’re at it. Especially if we’re giving the boys their own.”

Derek looked to Spencer. “What do you say?” he asked. “Feel like commandeering a ship of our own?”

His smile was answer enough.

“Hey, JJ!”

Everyone’s attention rounded on the bar, where Will seemed to be haggling with a bothersome patron over the bartop. His expression looked somewhat harried. “Can you come over here, please?”

“Sure, yeah,” she said, pushing back her chair and sending one last look to the group, rolling her eyes. “Sorry kids, my second job calls,” she said.

“Good luck,” Derek said. “That guy looks like a handful.”

“Nah. I’ve handled worse.” She flexed the muscles an arm as if to emphasize that point before sweeping off to the bar.

Emily rounded her gaze squarely onto her mug after that and took a deep drink without looking up.

Penelope lifted her eyebrows at Derek, who matched her expression. Spencer tried to conceal a smile behind the rim of his mug.  _ Oh, this is definitely an interesting development…  _

The captain leaned her chin on her hand casually. “She’s kinda amazing, isn’t she,” she said lightly.

Emily snuck a glance back at the woman at the bar, and gave a shrug. “She’s an excellent fighter,” she admitted.

“Pretty, too. Those eyes, am I right?”

“I… guess.”

Penelope’s grin grew wider. “You know, I can always… engineer something. If you’re ever interested.”

Emily frowned.

“She likes to eat,” she went on, casual as ever. “There’s a place that does a really nice breakfast just a couple blocks from here.”

“That’s… nice.”

“Come on.” Penelope elbowed her and shot a smirk Derek’s way. “You think  _ those _ two are able to hold hands under the table right now without having been helped along in some way? You think they got to where they are on their  _ own _ ?”

“Hey,” Derek piped up, but Spencer cut him off.

“She’s right,” he admitted. “Elle, too, was a big help to me, at least. I’d probably still be hiding in the jungles of Greenaway in mortification without her.”

“And don’t tell me  _ I  _ didn’t help  _ you  _ out, loverboy. I can think of a dance by a bonfire on a beach in which my engineering skills were thoroughly put to use.” 

“Alright, alright.”

“We don’t call them disasters for no reason,” Penelope assured Emily. “It took a lot of shoving them together - sometimes literally - to get them to where they are. And look at them. Look how happy they are. Look at that whipped smile on Derek’s face as he gazes at his boy’s sexy new haircut.”

Spencer’s eyes flicked to him, his brows furrowed almost playfully, and Derek tactfully took a long drink from his mug.

“Anyway, what I’m saying is… I can make things happen.” She shrugged. “Just say the word.”

Emily glanced back at JJ again, working her jaw. “What’s that breakfast place called?” she asked. Penelope told her. She nodded, threw back the rest of her drink, and rose from the table, to the surprise of the rest of them. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need any help,” she insisted before turning and walking up to the bar.

Derek, Spencer, and Penelope all shared an incredulous look.

The irritable patron had stormed out in a huff, and JJ’s hands were on her hips, glaring him away. The table watched Emily approach her. Offer her a smile. Receive one in return. The room was too noisy to hear the words they said, but there was nothing in their demeanors to indicate that either of them were ill at ease. In fact, given the warm flush in their cheeks, the tilt of their heads, the way their gazes darted away at times… they looked into it.

_ And, dare I say it… maybe even into each other. _

And then, in response to something Emily said… JJ  _ nodded _ .

Penelope started smacking Derek’s knee under the table, unable to tear her eyes away from the women at the bar. “Did,” she stammered, “Did you… just see? What I think I just saw?”

“Uh, if what you think you saw was Emily picking up my oldest childhood friend in a  _ decidedly  _ romantic fashion,” said Spencer, his dark eyes just as wide, “Then… yes?”

“So… Emily likes women, huh?” Derek said. “I meant the kissing remark back in the infirmary as kind of a joke, I didn’t realize…”

“Oh, I did,” Penelope said, nodding vigorously. “I knew there was definitely something not-straight about that woman the instant I met her.”

“You were too delirious from your wound to have noticed their interactions after the battle, Derek. I was already starting to figure there was another reason she was so averse to marrying any of the men in Port Quantico, and they… pretty much confirmed it,” Spencer admitted with a shrug. “Guess she’s just not into men at all.”

Over at the bar, Emily pulled up a tall stool and motioned Will over, gesturing between them. JJ claimed her own seat beside her. Will sent the first mate a knowing look before moving off to grab whatever drinks Emily had ordered.

“Guess I’m gonna be in the market for a new first mate sooner or later,” Penelope mused cheerfully to herself.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at her. As soon as you two are kicked off the  _ Redwing _ , Captain Emily’s gonna need a first mate by her side. And I’ve had my fun with JJ as mine, but, well… my fun’s been had. And who am I to keep lovers apart?”

“That’s sweet of you, Babygirl, but you’re still down a first mate, and as amazing as you are, I’m not sure you can run a whole ship by yourself.”

She waved a hand. “I’ll find a friend. Maybe Kevin. Oh, or Tara… you think Tara would be down to be my first mate? I think she would… I’ll look into that…” 

“If you want Tara, you’ll have to take Luke, too,” Spencer offered. “Those two are best friends. Separating them from each other’s snarky retorts would be a crime more grievous than piracy.”

Penelope sighed. “Ugh. The newbie. I guess I’ll allow it if it wins me Tara.”

“How come you call him ‘newbie’ all the time?” Derek asked.

“Because he used to be the newest member of my crew years ago, and he would always try to get smart with his superiors - more specifically, me - so he earned himself that nickname to keep him in check. And by now it’s just stuck.”

Derek laughed.

“So… when should we plan on setting sail?” Spencer asked, leaning both his elbows on the table. “You said you wanted to leave as soon as possible?”

Penelope sent one more glance to the two women at the bar, who were laughing at a joke one of them must have said. “I did,” she said, “But now I’m thinking that anchors up can wait until  _ after _ breakfast. Sound good to you boys?”

“I think so,” he said, cracking a smile.

Derek nodded. “I got no problems with that.”

“And I don’t think I need to clear it with JJ, either,” Penelope grinned. “From the looks of it… those two aren’t going to mind a few extra hours in Keg Town one bit.”

* * *

The beginnings of the first real pirate fleet of the archipelago set sail from the docks of Keg Town in the afternoon of the following day.

Fair winds filled the sails of the  _ Redwing _ above Derek’s head. Kate Callahan and Ashley Seaver were a few of the old crew whom Emily had recruited, and were also on board. In front of them on the seas, Penelope had indeed managed to convince Tara Lewis to join the  _ Black Queen _ ’s new crew, along with Luke Alvez, Matt Simmons, and Kevin Lynch. A few new faces were scattered between both ships - courtesy of JJ, who was still sticking around on the  _ Queen  _ for the time being.

She and Emily spent hours at the breakfast cafe that morning. Derek didn’t pry the ex-commodore for details, but by the almost cheerful glow about her when she’d captained her ship and crew out of the harbor, he figured their date must have gone exceedingly well. 

Derek felt overwhelmingly happy for her. He knew what it felt like to finally be free to love whoever one’s heart desires.

As if on cue, the subject of his own love approached where he was standing on the forecastle of the ship. Spencer had his hands in his pockets as he leaned backwards against the railing beside him. Once again, he was wearing the simple clothes of a commoner, the tunic and white shirt and boots that seemed to suit him so well. Gone were the fine vestments of the upper class - this time, for good. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” he smiled, turning to lean one hip against the rail and cross his arms. “Ready to find us a ship?”

“I still can’t believe it’s really happening.” He shook his head. 

Derek shrugged, shooting a glance to the far end of the ship where Emily manned the helm, Sergio sitting on the railing by her side. “Oh,” he said, “I can. I was getting the feeling that we were wearing out our welcome, those final couple days before we reached town.”

He frowned, following his gaze. “We weren’t  _ that _ bad, were we? I mean… we didn’t even sleep together. In… either sense of the word.”

“I dunno what to tell you, kid.  _ I _ didn’t think it was that bad, but then again, the  _ Redwing _ isn’t our ship. If the captain says no boys allowed, then it’s no boys allowed.”

Spencer shrugged. The sea breeze ruffled his fluffs of short hair, and Derek found himself tipping his head to the side as he gazed at him.  _ Penelope was right. That haircut  _ is _ kind of sexy…  _

“So,” Derek said, putting aside that thought for the moment, “Do I owe the pleasure of your company simply because you want to rant about getting kicked out of the Ladies Club, or is there something else you wanted to talk about?”

“Actually, there is,” he said. “I was reminded last night during dinner. We’re getting a ship, right? The third in the fleet this group of friends of ours is making here.”

“Yeah,” he said.”

“Okay, well, one of us is going to have to be the captain of this ship, and one of us is going to be the first mate.”

That piqued Derek’s interest. “Captain, huh?”

“A crew can’t be effectively run without one, and a ship can’t be run without a crew. So, I figured… we might as well clear this up sooner rather than later so we’re ready when the time comes.”

Derek smirked to himself, gazing at the horizon line where the ocean met the sky. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not sure this is an issue that has much to be cleared up at all. I think the answer’s pretty obvious.”

“Oh, good,” he sighed. “I agree completely, I was just making sure.”

“Yeah, don’t you worry, I think we both know who out of the two of us is going to make the better captain -”

“Me.”

“- Me.”

Their gazes snapped to one another’s and held it for a long, silent minute.

Derek unfroze first. He blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said, “ _ You? _ ”

“Yes?” said Spencer, his brows furrowed. “You said it yourself, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“I thought we were talking about me,” he reasoned.

“Really. What makes you think you’d be a good captain?” he asked, crossing his arms to match Derek’s stance.

Derek scoffed and shifted his weight off the railing - when it came down to it, he wasn’t sure he could pin down a reason. He grasped at the nearest straw. “Because I’m the captaining type, that’s what,” he said. 

“You’re the  _ captaining type? _ What’s that supposed to mean? What qualities make you best suited for the responsibilities of running a ship, Derek?”

“Well, I can fend off subordinates who get too mouthy, for one,” he replied, puffing out his broad chest just a little bit more.

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up, and Derek immediately saw by the look in his eyes that that couldn’t have been more of the wrong thing to say. “Oh. Really,” he clipped. “Threats. Intimidation. Brute force. You think  _ that  _ will make you a good captain?”

“Well -”

“First  _ mate _ , maybe, but not captain. It’s definitely good to have a big, brawly-type person in that position to be the captain’s enforcer. But those qualities aren’t exactly ideal for the captain himself.”

“Oh, and you’re somehow any better?” he blanched, grasping at any semblance of the high ground he’d just gotten yanked out from under him, thanks to his own blunder.

“Well, unlike you,” he said, taking on a satisfied air, “I’ve done  _ extensive _ research on ships of every kind and the technicalities of sailing each. I know all about the currents between these islands, the quickest paths between each, and how to orient oneself at night. And, I can recite every one of the books I got this information from word for word.”

“You still don’t have any real experience sailing.”

“Actually, I do. Kevin taught me some pointers while I was still a prisoner of Cat’s. And I have the fundamental knowledge of everything else, if only in theory and not in practice. Do you know the difference between  _ fore  _ and  _ aft _ , Derek?”

Derek let out a tight, grumbling sigh. Spencer had a significant point, and he knew it - even after learning bits and pieces from Penelope while they were chasing down Cat, even after holding the wheel steady once or twice during the trip, Derek still barely had any practical knowledge on how to sail a ship. He’d been trained to work a forge since he’d taken up the apprenticeship at eleven years old, and knew little else in the way of another trade.

But Spencer had been reading every book he could get his hands on since he was that same age - even younger. He may have not had any physical skills with a trade, but he did have the knowledge to be able to pick up something like sailing fairly quickly.

The answer for who was best suited to be the captain  _ was _ obvious.

That didn’t mean Derek had to go quietly.

He playfully narrowed his eyes at his love’s smug expression. “One’s a little boat, and the other’s the thing you stick in the water to move it.”

“That’s  _ oar _ and  _ raft _ ,” Spencer grinned - and his hands began motioning right on cue as he began to explain. Those endearing little motions. “Fore-and-aft means forwards-and-backwards, specifically with regards to lengthwise of a ship from bow to stern - the front and back ends of a ship, respectively. There’s a particular kind of sailing rig known as a fore-and-aft rig in which the sails are set along the line of the keel instead of perpendicular to it, as the sails on the  _ Redwing _ and the  _ Black Queen _ are, hence ‘from bow to stern’ -”

“Hmm,” Derek murmured, placing his hands gently on either side of Spencer’s hips and drawing himself close to him, “Have I ever told you how much I love it when you start talking about things I can’t follow?”

Spencer hummed in amusement as Derek kissed his lips, blocking whatever clever comeback he was about to say. He didn’t seem too concerned about that as he kissed him back briefly. “Kiss me all you want if it makes you feel better,” he said, breaking them apart for a moment, “But you’re not going to change my mind.”

“Wanna bet?” Derek smirked.

“Yeah.” Spencer placed both palms on either side of Derek’s face and kissed him again, long and languid and drawn out. Derek slid his hands from his hips to around his lower back to hold him more solidly. He sighed in his arms, and his thumbs brushed over Derek’s cheekbones in a touch that sent a small, warm shiver down his spine.

Then Spencer’s lips stopped moving against his own, and he seemed to still. Derek frowned as they parted. “What?” he murmured.

Spencer didn’t answer. Derek immediately recognized the expression on his face that he always got when his mind was thinking about something. His lips pressed together - almost like he was trying to stifle a grin - as he considered saying whatever it was he was considering saying. His dark eyes darted to the side.

“Hey,” Derek said. “What are you thinking about in there?”

His gaze finally flicked back to his, and he worked his jaw, still stifling that grin. His face was starting to look a little pink, too. “I propose a compromise to this conflict,” he said. “A deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. He casually rested his forearms on either of Derek’s shoulders and interlaced his fingers loosely behind his neck. Stalling.  _ He’s stalling every second he can get. What is this deal he’s concocting? Why does he have that look on his face? _

“The deal is,” he said, “I become the captain. I’m the captain of our ship and crew. Every day, up on the deck, I’m the one calling the shots.”

“Aw,” Derek grinned. “That’s no fun.”

Spencer just flicked his eyebrows in response, and Derek swore his face turned even a little redder. “But,” he said at length, “There’s a compromise.” Slowly, keeping his gaze off Derek’s face, he began to slide his hands down over his shoulders. “I run the ship during the day.” Fingers trailing down over the muscles of his chest, over his white shirt. “But at night…” Lower and lower, agonizingly slowly. “When the crew is belowdecks…” Slow touches. “And you and I retire to the captain’s quarters for the night…” 

Derek’s heartbeat suddenly ratcheted up its pace as Spencer slid his arms around his waist and leaned in close, close enough to feel his breath brush across his upper lip, still keeping his gaze on his mouth, their mouths, mere hairsbreadths away,  _ agonizingly _ close, as he said the final words.

“ _ You _ can be the one  _ in charge _ .”

His words were barely more than a whisper, his face still mortifyingly red, but his gaze didn’t waver as he finally looked him in the eye.

Derek was utterly speechless.

_ Ah. _

His heart racing in his chest, heat surging through his every limb.  _ You can be the one in charge, you can be the one in charge… in charge…  _

_ Hell yeah, _ a part of him wanted to say.  _ Holy shit, _ another was exclaiming. He’d never seen him act like this before. Never heard him whisper words like  _ those _ . Derek wanted to say some words of his own, wanted to match that tone of voice, but… no words made it past his lips. None. He was struck completely speechless.

_ In charge. _

_ During…  _

_ What… what the hell has gotten into him all of a sudden…  _

After a brief moment of this, of Derek unable to give any sort of response while Spencer looked at him with their mouths barely apart… the corner of Spencer’s mouth ticked upwards and he breathed a single laugh. “I win,” he said.

Derek blinked, and finally found his words again. “You… huh?”

“I win. You were rendered speechless first.”

“Wh… what?”

“The last night on board the  _ Redwing _ before we fought Cat outside Port Quantico.” He was speaking somewhat more normally now - if almost a little breathless - at a somewhat more normal distance, but his hands still around his waist. “The night I slept in your hammock with you. You won that time, but I promised you I’d crush you. Remember that?”

He did. Barely. He was still reeling from the fresh memory of his voice murmuring those words,  _ you’re in charge _ … but through the jumble of his thoughts, he remembered the instance Spencer was talking about.

He’d been feeling confident that night. A little racy. The man he loved was essentially in his bed, and he had said some racy things to him. Made it into a competition on a whim. And he remembered Spencer’s face tucked into his chest, and a muttered promise, barely audible, so quiet he wasn’t even sure he’d heard it correctly.

_ I will crush you _ .

_ And oh, he followed through. _

“Do you yield?” Spencer asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I…” Derek shook his head. Even now, he had no response. Nothing to possibly top that at the moment. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Yes, I yield. You win.”

“Oh, thank God.” Spencer loosed a large breath and dropped his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. “I don’t think I could have pulled that off a second time.”

A laugh burst forth from Derek’s chest. “Out of your comfort zone?” he said.

“ _ So _ far out of my comfort zone.” He took a deep, steadying breath and let it out, straightening again. His face was flaming and he was avoiding eye contact again as he smiled from the mortification. “God. Don’t make me say that stuff again.”

“I didn’t make you say it the first time. I didn’t even remember I  _ made  _ flustering each other a competition.”

“Oh, I did. And I was not about to lose to you again.  _ You  _ were the one who made the mistake of challenging a scholar to a competition of  _ any _ kind, because we have a history of going nuclear. You brought this on yourself.”

Derek laughed again. “Well,” he said, “At least it seems we’ve reached a compromise. I’ll accept your deal… Captain Reid.”

Spencer blushed again and averted his gaze once more… but he was smiling. Derek guided his face back front and kissed him. He sighed happily. “I love you,” he murmured against his smiling lips in between kisses.

“I love you too.” Derek pressed a light kiss to the end of his nose, and he laughed.

From the deck, a voice suddenly called up. “Hey, loverboys!”

They finally parted to raise eyebrows at Emily, who was pointing a warning finger at them from a pile of crates piled against the nearest mast. “Just because you’re outta here in a few days doesn’t mean you get free reign to get extra cute,” she called.

“Shouldn’t you be steering the ship, Emily?” Spencer asked.

She waved a hand in the direction of the helm. “Sergio’s handling it. I’m just over here to grab a water. It’s hot enough out today without the two of you getting cute in broad daylight.”

“Aw, but Emily, I love him,” Derek grinned.

“And you can love him somewhere else all you want.  _ Privately _ . No public displays of affection on  _ my _ ship.”

The two of them watched her saunter away, satisfied, a water jug swinging in one hand. Derek shared a look with him. “So it’s the  _ displays _ she can’t stand, then,” he said. “Good to know.”

“Displays of affection are outlawed between officers and their significant others in the navy,” Spencer said. “She’s still got some lingering military doctrines influencing how she runs a ship.”

“Seems so.” Derek turned a mischievous glance onto Spencer. “Hey, speaking of. Clarify something for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Our deal.”

His dark eyes flicked to his, then away again, casual as he could. “What about it?”

Derek poked his chest. “You said… the two of us, you and I… would be retiring to the captain’s quarters  _ every night, _ ” he said, cracking a smile. “Now, was that a hypothetical, or did you really mean you intend on setting aside your…  _ status  _ every single night?”

The corners of Spencer’s mouth turned up against his will, and he glanced down at the boards beneath their feet. Derek’s eyebrows raised a little higher. “What are we talking about, here? Me in your room every night? How many of those nights involve the things you hinted at?” He leaned to put his face more in Spencer’s line of sight, and he tactfully avoided looking at him, still stifling a grin. “Well? Have you come to a final decision on just how  _ comfortable  _ you want to get with me?”

“Maybe,” he finally said with a small shrug.

“And? How comfortable  _ is  _ that, Pretty Boy?”

He quit holding back his smile, still looking a little bit bashful at saying it out loud. “Pretty comfortable,” he finally admitted. 

“Yeah?”

Another shrug. “ _ Really _ comfortable.”

“Really comfortable, huh?”

A nod. “As… long as you’re comfortable with that, too.”

“Me? I’m down for anything,” he said. “You just say the word.”

“Okay.” Spencer nodded. Then he gave a quiet laugh and ran both hands through his short hair until they interlocked behind his head. “I’d kiss you,” he said. “I’d kiss you right now if I could.”

“So why don’t you?” Derek asked.

“Because I’m pretty sure Emily’s glaring me down from all the way on the helm.”

“Aw, don’t worry about her,” he said. “Look, she’s bending down to scratch Sergio behind the ears. And now she’s busy chasing him around because he won’t have it. She’s not paying  _ us  _ any attention.”

“For the moment.”

“A moment’s all you need.” Derek kissed him. Spencer finally relaxed and closed his eyes, tilting deeper into the kiss and winding his arms around his neck. A sigh escaped Derek as his mouth opened to him, and Spencer inhaled a little but took it in stride. Heat rippled through his core.

_ This is why we left. This is why I’m here. For him. To be with him. No more needing to hide it from everyone, including myself. No more denial. _

This  _ is where I belong, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. _

“You know -” Spencer tried to say, but Derek pressed light kisses in between his words. “If - if we’re gonna - do this stuff right now -” He finally shoved Derek away with a grin. “We still really shouldn’t do it out in the open like this. I mean, Emily’s got a point, we don’t want to be too much of a nuisance to everyone else.”

“Reid,” Derek said, opting for his last name just this once. “We’re on a ship. The crew’s everywhere below decks and Emily’s got a vantage point on everywhere above decks.  _ Everywhere _ is out in the open.”

“Well, except the first mate’s cabin, but yeah,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. 

And slowly, that matter-of-fact expression faded as the reality of what he’d just said sank in. They looked at each other, then, for a long moment. Derek just looked at him. “First mate’s cabin,” he said. “That’s… that’s the one in the forecastle, right? Like… right beneath our feet, right now?”

Spencer swallowed… and nodded.

“And… it’s currently vacant, isn’t it.”

“JJ’s still on the  _ Queen _ ,” he whispered as an affirmation. “Emily doesn’t have a first mate yet.”

Derek turned to look over his shoulder at where Emily was still trailing after the apathetic black cat. “You wanna take this inside, then?” he asked.

“I dunno. How… comfortable do you wanna be, Derek?”

Derek turned to look at him. Swept a gaze up his slender form, letting it linger maybe just a little too long below his belt before tracing up his chest, the column of his neck, to his beautiful, reddened face. He let himself study the curve of his lips, the dark brown of his eyes, the irresistible curls of his newly short hair.

“Pretty damn comfortable,” he admitted.

Spencer nodded, his lips pressed together… but curving into a half-smile. “Good,” he said. “Cause I… was kind of feeling the same way.”

Elation - and something maybe even a little stronger - flared through Derek’s chest. “Well, if we’re on the same page about this, we better get a move on before Emily catches that cat and goes back to keeping an eye on us.”

“That’s a good idea,” he affirmed. 

Derek pressed one more kiss to the soft spot of Spencer’s cheek, just above his jaw. “I never thought I would ever be able to do this,” he murmured to him as they started moving for the steps that would take them down off the forecastle, down to the deck level where the first mate’s cabin doors let out. “Not for real.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “A few months ago… I would have never thought this would ever be possible. Any of this.”

His boots hit the deck. “Glad you left home to become a pirate, now?”

“Right now?” The handle of the door was behind him in his hand. It pushed open with barely a sound, the close warmth of the room beyond folding around them like a soft embrace. “Yeah.”

And then his hands were on either side of his face, his lips on his, and the door closed gently behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, feel free to leave kudos or comments, they always make me smile :)


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